


For His Honour

by dizzyDG



Series: Northern Promise [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-31 07:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 208,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3969832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzyDG/pseuds/dizzyDG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re betrothed,” Jeyne stated coldly and the two words stung him like a slap in the face. “A promise made to a woman I don’t even have a name for,” he retorted, pulling himself up furiously to face her as she shook her head. “But a promise nonetheless,” she said quietly.</p><p>Jeyne refuses to become Robb's wife, instead becoming his lover until such time he must honour his promise to Walder Frey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Also published on FF.net, under the same username and title.

Robb blinked awake. Slowly. Carefully. At once he wished he could close his eyes again and pretend that the night before had been a nightmare. A nightmare that had swiftly turned into a dream, pleasure engulfing him. Her dark curls were tickling his skin and he could feel her warm, even breath against his bare chest. Her skin was pressed so tightly against his that he was unsure where one of them ended and the other began. Last night they had been as one. Last night she had put her arms around him and told him everything would be alright in the end. Through his blinding tears somehow he had managed to meet her eyes, to see the sincerity shining in the dark pools. In the next instant his mouth had been on hers. Before he had known what was happening her dress had come away in his hands and he was feeling her bare under his touch. Deep down he knew it was wrong but he had continued regardless. He had pulled her onto the bed and she had come all too willingly, her hands snatching at him as eagerly as his had snatched at her. Becoming one with her had melted his troubled away. Her sweet warmth surrounding him and her breathless voice mumbling his name as their bodies slicked against one another was enough to make him forget.

Now he remembered.

Shame flooded him. Regret. Bitterness. Anger. He had trusted him, trusted him almost as much as he trusted Jon. They were brothers in all but name but now he only felt hatred for him coursing through every vein in his body. His fists clenched of their own accord as he thought of him. Jeyne shifted in his arms then and he realised that his fingertips were digging into the smooth curve of her hip. He released his grip and she sighed heavily, her own hand clenching slightly in the muscles of his chest before her even breathing continued. Robb closed his eyes again as they began to sting. How could he have been so stupid? In his grief over his brothers and his rage over Theon’s betrayal he had somehow seen fit to take an innocent girl to his bed. He cursed himself. Jeyne was sweet. Innocent. She had tended to him despite her mother’s disapproval and she had been the only one who could make him stay put when the news had come about Bran and Rickon. He let his fingers twirl a lock of her hair, his heart beating a little too fast as he wound the softness around his fingers over and over. She was so beautiful. Being with her would be as easy as breathing. He paused in what he was doing.

The Frey girl.

He was already promised. His mother had made the promise so long ago and he had agreed to it because he had _needed_ to get across that bridge. He had _needed_ to save his father. Why was it everything he set out to do seemed destined to fail? He had promised his mother that he would get his father and sisters back. He had failed. He had been sure that an alliance with Renly would make them unstoppable. Renly had died and he had been wrong again. More failure. The Kingslayer was lost to him, his own mother had seen to that. He had promised her that the boys would be safe at Winterfell, he had ignored her uneasiness at sending Theon to Pyke. Why hadn’t he listened? The Gods damn it all it was all his fault. If he ever got his hands on Theon Greyjoy he would wrap his hands around his neck and squeeze the life out of him. He would not let go until he choked every last breath from his worthless body. A choked sob almost escaped him then and he clutched Jeyne closer to him, wanting to feel her comfort the way he had the night before. He wanted to be as one with her again, lose himself in her because she was the only thing that could take the pain away.

Shame came for him again as she roused from her sleep, her head slowly lifting up from his chest, her eyes shy and uncertain as they came to meet his. He had spoiled her. Another promise broken. The Freys would desert him for this and he wouldn’t blame them, but how could he just leave her spoiled? Jeyne deserved better. He would give her better, if she would have him. He moved his hand up to gently cup her cheek and she looked slightly more reassured but he could still feel the awkwardness between them. Last night it had been so easy, almost too easy. In the cold light of the morning sun though everything was so different. The consequences of their actions were fluttering around both of them and he could practically feel the tension crackling around them. He licked his lips nervously as she slowly blinked at him, gently tucking a lock of her hair back behind her ear. “I’ll make this right,” he breathed and a tiny frown creased her forehead; “I know I should never have dishonoured you like that but I will make it right Jeyne. I will take you as my wife, I would not have you shamed.”

He had expected her to smile, lean into him, press her lips to his again so they could lose themselves in one another as they had the night before. What he hadn’t expected was the look of fury to cross her face, for her to push away from him and snatch at a blanket, pulling it up around her to hide her nakedness. “You’re betrothed,” Jeyne stated coldly and the two words stung him like a slap in the face. “A promise made to a woman I don’t even have a name for,” he retorted, pulling himself up furiously to face her as she shook her head. “But a promise nonetheless,” she said quietly and he frowned at her, reaching his hand out to take one of hers but she was not receptive to his advances. “I don’t want her, I _want_ you,” Robb said softly, not understanding why she was being like this. “And you had me,” she said softly, her eyes flickering to the sheets which were spotted with blood. “I came willingly, you didn’t force me,” she continued, “but you are well healed now and you must continue south, forget about me…we were not meant for one another. Honour your promises like a good king should,” she whispered, her hand coming to cup his cheek, “I will never forget you…I’m glad I could bring you some comfort at such a dark time.”

“Jeyne -,” he started to protest but she leant in and pressed her lips ever so lightly against his. She was so sweet. So very sweet. When she pulled away she shook her head, her finger coming to his lips and he obeyed her gesture of silence even though all he wanted to do was scream at her to reconsider. She shifted away from the bed then, holding the blanket firmly around her as she set about finding her discarded clothes. He got himself up and hunted for his breeches, pulling them on furiously before he turned to look at her again, seeing her tying the laces of her dress with shaking fingers. He crossed to her and placed his hands over hers, feeling her jump slightly at his touch. Robb allowed his hands to caress her own, meeting her eyes which were so beautiful he imagined he could lose himself in them forever. “Won’t you reconsider?” he asked her quietly and she smiled regretfully, shaking her head slightly. “You know it wouldn’t be right…you have honour, just as your father did.”

“And look where it got him,” he said bitterly and she laced her fingers with his, squeezing hard. “I know how much you love and miss him and I cannot allow you to do this, to break this promise when I know it is the wrong thing,” she told him and he tugged on her hands, pulling her into his arms. “I’m sorry Jeyne,” he whispered and she held him closer, rubbing her hands up and down his back. “I don’t regret it,” she whispered back, “I could never regret giving myself to you…you’re so gentle, so wonderful, I could never -,” he cut her off by bending his head to kiss her lips, coaxing her own apart so he could slide his tongue with hers. He knew it would be better to let her go, to let her walk out of that door and never look back but he needed her. She was intoxicating, headier than the strongest ale or the fruitiest wine. She consumed him so entirely that it scared him. Terrifying him and thrilling him in equal measure, desire swelling him again as he pulled her even closer, his tongue exploring every crevice of his mouth.

She pulled away gasping and he instantly wanted to pull her back but she manoeuvred her way out of his arms and took a few steps back from him. “Once might be excusable, but I think I’d best go your Grace before I make things worse,” she said, her hand coming to toss her hair over her shoulder before she made her way to the door. “Jeyne,” he said and she paused, her hand on the doorknob; “I can’t let you go like this.” She shook her head and when she turned to him he could see the un-spilled tears in her eyes and it made his own sting. “We can’t always have what we want your Grace,” she said quietly, her eyes not leaving his; “you of all people should know that best of all.”

He had no answer for that and she seemed to know it, a sad little smile coming to play at her lips before she wrenched open the door. It slammed in the next moment and Robb didn’t think he had ever heard anything so final in his life. He sank down into a chair and put his head in his hands, wishing a thousand different things at once but still, shamefully, not regretting that fact that he had taken her to his bed.

* * *

Jeyne made it halfway back to her own chambers before her knees gave out. She clutched at the rough stone wall, blinded by the tears she had determinedly held back when she was still in his presence. Wracking sobs shook her body so hard she wondered how she would ever be able to still it again. Her heart felt as though it was breaking and it was screaming at her to go back, to fling open the door of his chambers and tell him she had reconsidered. She would let him fold her into his arms and kiss her until her head spun and she would tell him over and over that she wanted to be his above all things. His wife. His queen. But it was not her place and it never would be. She may have warmed his bed for a night but she could never be responsible for him breaking a promise, for destroying his honourable reputation. The Freys would desert him if he broke his marriage pact, she may not know many things about the war but she knew that. It would be seen as a sleight. She couldn’t let him do it, she cared too much about him.

She thought of her mother then and had the strangest desire to laugh through her tears. It had been all her mother had wanted since he had arrived injured in the keep after his army had brought the Crag to its knees. She would delight to hear from the maids that there was blood on the King’s sheets. Her delight wouldn’t last when she discovered Jeyne had refused him though and thinking of her reaction sobered her at once. She straightened up and brushed her hands over her cheeks to rid them of her shed tears. No more tears. She would have to be stronger than this if she were to resist the urge to go back to him. Her mother would no doubt be furious with her and she didn’t want to think about her father. He had only just returned to the Crag after being the prisoner of the King in the North…if he discovered what she had done…She shuddered again. None of it bore thinking about. Hopefully Robb would see that the sheets were got rid of discreetly and no one would ever have to find out what she had done. He would leave soon, she was sure of that. Somehow she would have to resist caving in and agreeing to become his wife.

She forced herself to keep moving down the hallways and to her chambers, slipping her dress away from her when she entered. What she needed was water for a bath to soothe away the ache between her thighs. After a moment she rang the bell for a maid to come to her and wrapped her robe about her as she waited. A knock came after a few minutes and she called for them to come in, the maid curtseying for her before looking to her expectantly; “milady?”

“I’d like water brought for a bath,” Jeyne said at once and the girl agreed, curtseying again before she made her way from the room. Jeyne just sat and waited, chewing on her nails in a distracted manner and trying not to remember the events of the previous night. It was hard not to. So hard. She closed her eyes and could almost see him looming over her in the half darkness. She could almost feel his calloused hands against her skin, feel him moving her legs apart as he nestled his hard, muscled body between them. She could feel the coarseness of the hair on his chest, feel his mouth on her skin and taste his perfection in her mouth. She could feel him between her thighs, relieving that ache. Bringing her pleasure and pain all at once. She snapped her eyes open as the door opened, forcing a smile for the troupe of maids that were bringing in her bath water. They were gone quickly, leaving her with a steaming bath and her heart racing for Robb Stark. Gods she wished it would stop. Each beat was telling her to go back to him, to change her mind. She ignored it, standing up and slipping her robe from her shoulders before tugging her shift up over her head. When she sank into the water she let out a relieved sigh. The warmth was soothing away the ache between her legs and she reclined back against the tub and closed her eyes, wishing the water could wash away her ache for Robb just as easily.

* * *

They would leave in the morning. It had been decided with the men now that he was fully recovered and he had been able to do nothing but agree. His bronze crown felt heavy on his head as he sat in council with them in one of the unfamiliar chambers of the Crag. He had come here to gain a foothold in the Westerlands, knowing that they would surrender to him as he held their lord captive. He had not expected to come here and lose his heart. The thought of leaving Jeyne behind made him feel sick to his stomach but she had made her position clear. She would not marry him. As much as it stung he could not argue with her reasoning. He wished for a moment that she was not so level-headed, that she would throw caution to the wind and agree to become his wife. _What is a king without a queen?_ He would get a queen, he remembered bitterly as he raised his cup to his lips and took a deep draught from it. He would get a Frey wife and that was final. Sometimes he cursed his mother for her deal. He remembered Bran and Rickon then and guilt engulfed him. His mother would be in pieces and all he could think about was the fact that he had to enter into a marriage that he didn’t want. At least he still had his life. That was more than his poor brothers could boast.

He sighed heavily. Guilt was something he already lived with, what was a little more? Who was he trying to fool? His father’s fate had been out of his hands, all of it so far had been out of his hands. Jeyne though…he couldn’t leave her like this, not when it was all his fault. He had to find some way of making it better for her and a thought struck him. “Olyvar!” he called out of the door for his squire and he came in at once, bowing shortly to him. “Yes your Grace?” Olyvar asked and Robb rolled his eyes slightly at him. “How many times must I tell you to call me Robb?” he asked with a raised brow and his squire smiled sheepishly at him. “Sorry Robb, can I help you with something?” Olyvar asked him and Robb nodded slowly. “I’d like to see the lady Jeyne,” he said, “she tended me well and I would like to thank her properly.” Olyvar didn’t seem suspicious of him as he nodded his head, another smile coming to his face. “Of course, I’ll bring her to you at once,” he said, bowing his head towards him before departing his presence.

Robb could only drum his fingers lightly against the wood of the table as he tried not to count the minutes it took for Olyvar to return with Jeyne. After what seemed like forever they finally appeared and Robb thanked his squire, waiting until he was completely certain Olyvar had gone before he turned his attention to Jeyne. She wasn’t looking at him, her head bowed as her hands toyed with the silks of her dress. Robb stood slowly, moving towards her, her head only raising when her was stood mere inches from her. “You wanted to see me your Grace,” she said politely and he swallowed hard. “You’ve made your position clear,” he said quietly, moving his hand to toy with a lock of her hair, twisting the curl around his fingers, “but I cannot leave you dishonoured, it wouldn’t be right.”

“We have been through this,” she said almost impatiently but he hushed her and she fell silent at once, her eyes still dancing with suspicion. “I know you won’t marry me,” he said, swallowing hard, “but I cannot leave you like this. I disgraced you and I will make it right, there are several young men in my service who are unmarried…I wouldn’t force any of them on you but I urge you to at least consider marriage to one of them.” Her eyes widened at that and he would have given anything to know what she was thinking in that moment. “You think you can make it right by tossing your spoils to your men?!” she burst out furiously, shoving away from him, the anger evident in her eyes. “No!” he protested, “Gods no! I didn’t mean it like that Jeyne…I just don’t think you should be shamed for what we did, you deserve a future with a good man who can take care of you!”

“And what would they get in return for a spoiled bride?” she demanded, “Money? Lands? Or just the honour of knowing she is approved by their king?!” she almost spat the last words and he flinched despite himself, wishing he could take the words back but knowing it was far too late. “I didn’t mean to offend you, I just want to make it right,” he shook his head desperately and she snorted. “And you think being married to one of you men would make it right?” she raised her brows, “You think seeing you every day wouldn’t be like torture to me, knowing that it could have been you instead? Knowing I could have been yours…resenting him forever because he would never be you. That’s cruel Robb…I never knew you could be that cruel…”

“If you want me so badly I’m right here!” he snapped at her and it was her turn to flinch. “I am sorry if I offended you my lady, I am only concerned for your honour…you know I would take you as my wife with just one word from you. Just say the word Jeyne and neither of us will have to live with the regret!” He was almost shouting by the end and, his body trembling slightly as his gaze met hers, her eyes wide as she seemed to consider his words. In the next moment her arms were flung around his neck and her mouth was on his, her lips ravishing his own as he parted them to grant her access to him. The heat between them was unbearable and he pushed his hips against hers before he could help himself and she released a moan into his mouth at his action. Hearing that blinded him to everything else but the fact that she was melting in his arms and he trailed his hands down to her hips and shoved her up against the table.

Her hands clenched around his shoulders as he picked her up and sat her on the edge of the table, his hands coming to furiously tug up her skirts. He needed to feel her again, he needed to be with her again. He needed to push them both into a state of bliss. He wanted her coming in his arms, trembling and weak and willing to agree to anything. Perhaps then she would say yes. He had to make her say yes. Her own hands trailed down his chest and came to rest on the waistband of his breeches. He groaned into her mouth, his hands travelling up her thighs now and pulled her skirts up with them. She broke the kiss then, shaking her head as he moved his lips down her jawline and down towards her neck. “We can’t,” she gasped out, “we can’t do this again…we can’t.” Despite her protestations her hands were sneaking under his breeches, her soft touch making him unbearably hard. “I can’t not have you…I need you,” he groaned, nibbling at her earlobe and coaxing a wanton moan from her.

“We can’t,” she said weakly, her hands coming back from beneath his breeches and coming instead to his laces. “We have to,” he breathed against the skin of her neck, one of his hands coming to cup between her legs, her back arching into him. “I need you,” he continued, rubbing his fingers against her, her breathing ragged in his ear as he fingers continued playing with his laces. “Marry me,” he urged her and she gasped, leaning into him for a moment before she pulled back, her hands coming to find his and push them away from her. He stared at her, her chest rising and falling rapidly and her eyes glazed over with want as she breathed just as quickly as him. “I can’t,” she said firmly, “I won’t,” she added and he wished there was some way of convincing her. “Jeyne…you know how much I want you,” he almost moaned as she tugged her skirts back down. “I know,” she agreed, “and I know how much I want you and it scares me Robb.”

“You don’t think I’m afraid?” he asked her, “You don’t think I know what having you would cost me? It could cost me everything but I don’t care so long as I have you.” She was shaking her head again, her soft hand coming up to cup around his cheek. “If you were free I would say yes in a heartbeat,” she whispered and he exhaled deeply. “But you are not free…when the time comes you will marry your Frey girl.” He opened his mouth to protest but she pressed her finger to his lips before he had the chance to say anything, much as she had that morning. “But I think I’m too selfish and too foolish to just let you go,” she continued and he frowned, “I may never be your wife Robb but I want to be at your side until such time we have to part.”

“What are you saying?” he breathed, needing her to say it out loud as he was afraid his own assumption would be wrong and he didn’t want to offend her again. “I’m saying I want to come with you,” she said, “I will no longer be welcome here when they find out what I did anyway,” she smiled slightly sadly, her thumb brushing down against his cheek. “You want to be my mistress?” he asked her incredulously, his eyes widening. “I would never share your bed once you marry,” she told him, holding his eyes, “but until that day comes…” she tailed off and he continued staring at her. “Jeyne…” he breathed, shaking his head, not even sure he had the right words for her. This was wrong. What she was suggesting was so wrong, he knew that, but already he was imagining being with her night and day. It wouldn’t be forever, but at least he could keep her a little longer. Perhaps with more time he could persuade her to become his wife?

“Just say yes Robb,” she urged him quietly and he swallowed hard. This would likely be the most selfish and dishonourable thing he would ever do in his life but one look into her eyes gave him the courage to speak that one word. “Yes,” he breathed and she smiled, her eyes lighting up as he bent his head to capture her smiling lips with his once again.


	2. II

It felt undeniably good to wake up naked in his arms every day. Two days since they had left the Crag and Jeyne could not regret what she had done, even if it meant that her family despised her. They would have despised her anyway once they had learned the truth, at least this way she got to be with Robb, even if it wouldn’t be forever. His heart was thudding steadily in her ear as the sounds of the rising men could be heard through the thin canvas of the tent. She wondered what they thought of their king bringing a mistress back with him but quickly stopped as he let out a shuddering breath, his arms tightening around her waist. “I still cannot get used to waking like this every day,” he said groggily, voicing her own feelings on the matter. She turned her head to press a kiss to his chest and in the next moment his strong arms encouraged her on top of him. As always she obliged him, shifting herself so she came astride him, feeling his hardness right up against her inner thigh. She shuddered with desire, feeling her own want seeking between her thighs, Robb’s rough hands rubbed firmly up and down her legs as her own hands braced themselves against his chest.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed in almost wonderment, pulling himself up to face her before she could respond to him, his lips claiming hers and bruising them instantly. His kisses always left her breathless and wanting and she could not get enough of them. Of tasting him. Of being with him. Even just looking at him was sheer bliss. His hands came to her hips then and he was encouraging her up. She couldn’t help but moan into his mouth as she knew that in mere seconds she would be as one with him. “Your Grace!” the sharp call came from just outside the canvas and Robb wrenched his lips from hers at once, his face a picture of irritation. “What is it?” he called out briskly, his hands stilling her against him as she made to move away from him. “Lord Karstark your Grace,” the man returned and Robb sighed heavily; “he is in a fit of rage!”

“Damn it all,” Robb muttered under his breath and this time he made no move to stop Jeyne as she moved off his lap and flopped down onto the make-shift bed with an irritated sigh of her own. “I will be there in a moment!” he called out to his man, furiously pulling on his clothing, his eyes still darkened with lust as he laced himself up. “Can I do anything to help?” she asked him, wrapping one of the furs around her bare body. “No,” he said, his gaze lingering on her for a moment, “I will see to him, likely I’ll be gone a while…you should break your fast, we’ll be leaving once he’s dealt with.” He still looked irritated and she smiled slightly at him as he pulled on his boots and went for the flap of the tent. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she said soothingly and he sighed at her, coming towards her for a moment and bending his head to press a kiss to her forehead. “One can only hope,” he said in a slightly defeated tone before he marched from the tent.

* * *

Robb marched through the camp, some of the men sending him wary glances as he pounded towards where he knew Lord Karstark was. He could hear his booming voice across the camp, every other word a curse as he raged on about the Lannisters for what felt like the thousandth time. It was no secret that he wanted the Lannister boys put to death in retaliation for the Kingslayer’s release but Robb could not afford to lose any more hostages. Besides, they were just children. _Children like Bran and Rickon._ He shoved the memory of his brothers to the back of his mind, his face set in a picture of fury as he came to a halt in front of his lord. “I would say I’m surprised my lord,” he began stiffly and Lord Karstark shrugged away from the men holding him back, defiance and guilt fighting for dominance in his expression. “I have told you countless times that you are to stay away from the prisoners,” Robb told him firmly and the older man narrowed his eyes at him.

“Prisoners?” he almost snorted, “They are kept in more comfort than most of your men.” Robb narrowed his own eyes at that and moved closer to his respected general. “They are all we have left to barter with…do you not see that?” Robb asked him quietly but the man’s eyes didn’t soften. “The Kingslayer murdered my boys, you should have had his head but instead you let your mother release him back to his accursed family,” Lord Karstark snarled and Robb’s own expression hardened. “I did not _let_ my mother do any such thing, and you ought to remember that she has been as a prisoner herself ever since. Do not seek to undermine me my lord, your actions could lead to treason,” Robb said so quietly that no one else would be able to hear him. “Are you threatening me your Grace?” he asked just as quietly in response.

“I am merely reminding you of your position, and of my own. Those boys are going nowhere, do you understand me?” Robb raised his brows but still he didn’t soften. “Do you not think I have enough to contend with? As if fighting the Lannisters is not enough I now have to live with the fact that my brothers have been murdered and that Ironborn are swarming Winterfell, doing the Gods only know what to all those innocent people…” Robb tailed off, shaking his head. “You seem to be dealing with your grief well enough your Grace,” Lord Karstark sniffed, his eyes flickering towards something over Robb’s shoulder and he turned his head just enough to see Jeyne emerging from his tent. “As you dealt with your own over your boys?” Robb said calmly, raising a brow and finally the older man looked shamed. “She was just a tavern wench,” he said quietly.

“And Jeyne Westerling is a high born lady,” Robb said, “show some respect at least my lord, for she has never done anything to warrant hostility from you.” Lord Karstark nodded slowly and for one shining moment Robb thought that he had actually managed to get through to him. “What your Grace does in the privacy of your own tent is your own business. Lannisters on the other hand…” he trailed off and Robb wanted to smack him, perhaps it would knock some sense into him. “I will not say this again my lord, if you do not stay away from the prisoners then I will have to treat you as one of them. Those boys did not murder your sons!” Robb hissed furiously at him.

“And what would you do if you stumbled upon a band of Ironborn? Would you let them go because _they didn’t murder your brothers?”_ he asked mockingly and Robb glared at him. “Those boys are not free, they are our prisoners and they will remain as such,” Robb told him, his eyes holding his fast. “Until you strike some deal with those murdering bastards and ship them back to their safe, warm castles,” Lord Karstark spat and Robb clenched his fists, trying very hard to keep his temper. “They are children,” he said calmly, “they are not to be touched, and I will hear no more about this. If I catch you near the prisoners again you will soon find yourself in a cage of your own, do you understand me my lord?”

“I understand you perfectly _your Grace,”_ Lord Karstark returned and Robb sighed heavily as the man brushed passed him, knocking his shoulder hard as he pounded furiously away. Robb looked towards the men guarding the prisoner’s tent and beckoned one of them over to him. “I want the guard here doubled,” he told him and the man bowed his head, “and if you catch Lord Karstark or any of his men here again I want them clad in chains and someone sent to me immediately,” he continued and again the guard bowed his head; “yes your Grace.” Robb nodded his thanks then and the guard returned to his post. He turned to leave and found Jeyne stood just behind him, a smile coming to her face as she held out a full plate of breakfast to him. “Thank you,” he said gratefully as he took it from her.

“What happened with Lord Karstark?” she asked him as he settled down on a fallen log to eat his breakfast. “The same as ever,” he said dismissively and she looked at him sympathetically. “He’s grieving for his sons,” she said quietly and Robb nodded as he swallowed down his mouthful. “We’re all grieving Jeyne, but he is the only one determined to murder children in their beds.” She fell silent then and just let him eat for several minutes before she spoke up again. “You don’t really think he’d do it, do you?” she asked quietly and he turned to look at her. She was so sweet. Innocent. She didn’t belong in a war like this but he had selfishly dragged her into it. _She begged to come,_ he reminded himself before he answered her. “I think if he had not been stopped he would have done it already,” he said and she looked horrified. “They are children,” she said incredulously.

“I know,” he said heavily, reaching over to take one of her hands. She pulled it away after a moment though when she saw Olyvar coming towards them and again he sighed heavily. His actions were making her ashamed of herself and he hated the thought of her feeling that way. “A letter from Riverrun your Grace,” Olyvar handed him the sealed parchment, the Tully fish pressed into the wax. He slid his thumb under the seal and broke it easily, unfolding the letter and reading through it, his heart growing heavier with every word. As if his poor mother didn’t have enough to deal with. “Is everything alright Robb?” Olyvar asked him quietly and he shook his head. “My grandfather has passed,” he said after a moment, folding the letter back up. “I’m sorry,” Olyvar said and he felt Jeyne’s hand come to rest lightly on his shoulder.

“It was expected,” Robb tried to sound unaffected, after all he had never truly known his grandfather. “When we reunite with the others we will head to Riverrun to pay our last respects,” he rose up to his feet, clapping Olyvar on the back before walking away. “Pack up!” he ordered as he strode through the camp, “Pack up, we must move on!” He heard the order being echoed through the ranks of men as he pulled back the flap of his own tent and took a deep, calming breath. He felt, rather than heard, Jeyne entering behind him and he resisted the urge to turn and look at her. Somewhere inside he knew he would break down if he did and he refused to be that weak in front of her again, especially when they were surrounded by his men. “I’m truly sorry for your loss,” she said quietly, her hand coming to rest on the small of his back. “Best you gather your things,” he said, moving away from her, “we will be saddling up soon.”

* * *

Night had fallen by the time Robb finally called the order for the progress to halt for the night. Jeyne shivered slightly, wrapping her cloak further around her as the men set about lighting camp fires. Her eyes caught Robb’s tent being erected and she looked around for him, wondering where he had got to. He had been quiet on the journey and she wasn’t surprised. He already had so much grief in his heart and now his grandfather had passed on. She knew he was hiding his inner turmoil from his men but she wished that he would let her in. All she wanted to do was help. All she had ever wanted to do was help him, from the very moment she had laid eyes on him, laying there barely conscious and bleeding. She had stayed by his side all that night as she was terrified he would slip away. Why she cared so much for a man who was her enemy, a man who had imprisoned her father, she didn’t know and she didn’t question it. Not that night anyway. Whilst he was at the Crag recuperating it had been easy to just think of him as a man. Since they had left there she had seen him for what he really was. A king. Hard at times but always fair, commanding yet approachable. When they were alone though…when they were alone he was just Robb.

She saw him after a moment, he seemed to be exchanging more heated words with Lord Karstark and she sighed heavily and began to amble over to them. It really wasn’t her place to interfere but Robb really didn’t need any more conflict in his life. As she reached them Lord Karstark bowed shortly to Robb before storming away. She lay her hand on the back of Robb’s arm then and he turned to look at her, his eyes unreadable before he curled his own hand around her wrist and pulled her into his tent. Before she could say a word his lips crashed against hers and his hands were snatching at the lacings of her dress, pulling them furiously to unthread them. She clung to his shoulders, kissing him back with everything she had inside her as he practically dragged her dress from her shoulders and allowed it to fall heavily to the floor. He pulled away from the kiss, breathing hard as his hands tugged up her shift, pulling it right up and over her body to leave her bare in front of him.

Jeyne moved back towards the bed with its mountain of furs and pillows, sinking into it, stretching her body out for his perusal, his eyes not leavings her as she waited breathlessly for him, her stomach clenched in anticipation. He unthread his doublet, shrugging out of it before he pulled his tunic over his head, exposing his hard, muscular chest to her. Jeyne could stay still no longer, shifting up onto her knees and crawling towards the foot of the bed as he tossed his tunic aside. He breathed deeply as her hands came to his chest, her fingers swirling patterns in the sprinkling of dark auburn hair that spread across the broad expanse. She let her fingers trail lightly downwards then, following the path of hair that led beneath his breeches. He was hard already when she let her hand seek underneath the leather and a groan left his perfect lips as she stroked his length lightly. As always he could never stand her teasing for long and she was unsurprised when his hands came to her shoulders and shoved her back onto the bed.

He loomed above her then, the look in his eyes almost predatory as he crawled up between her legs that she spread ever so willingly for him. The heat between them was like fire and a soft moan left her mouth as he ran his hands up her thighs, his thumb dipping between her legs and causing her to arch her back up into him. He smiled widely at her reaction, pressing his body against her own and allowing his whole hand to cup between her legs. She moaned more loudly as he began to move his fingers against her in an agonisingly slow way. Her hips bucked up of their own accord and she could have sworn he chuckled lightly as he kissed and nipped his way down her neck, one of his fingers slipping inside her. She gasped as he began to slowly rock it in and out of her, her lips somehow forming his name, begging him to stop his teasing. She was aching for him. Craving him. She needed to feel all of him inside her, to be one with him as they were surely meant to be. When she was one with him she could delude herself into thinking that she would somehow get to keep him forever. When they were joined she could forget that one day they would be parted for good.

Thankfully Robb soon stopped his teasing, his finger slipping from her and his hands moving to unthread the laces of his breeches. When he came free she wrapped her legs up high around his waist and he had pushed into her in an instant, a groan leaving his own lips and she cried out loudly. No doubt everyone in camp could hear her but she couldn’t care less as Robb thrust deeply into her, giving her every inch of him every time he rocked his hips. She lifted her own up to meet his pace, revelling in the sound their flesh made when it came together, losing herself in the sound of his own pleasure as she gasped and moaned out her own. His hands were everywhere, setting her skin aflame and she could feel her skin heating up, feel the beads of sweat across her forehead and between her breasts. She could see the moisture clinging to his own chest, the pleasure etched across his face as he quickened his pace.

It was all she could do to keep up with him as she let her own hands roam his body, touching every inch of his chest before sliding them round to his back. When she let her fingers trace down his spine he arched into her, a loud groan of pleasure leaving his lips as he buried himself deep inside her again. She lifted her legs up higher, pressing her feet against his bottom, her toes curling in pleasure as her movement allowed him to touch somewhere magical. Each thrust now had her seeing stars and she could barely breathe, her stomach tied in knots that Robb would soon undo. She craved the release but at the same time she didn’t want it to be over. Robb’s hand trailed up the valley of her breasts, his palm sliding easily against her sweat slicked skin. He was toying with her breast, squeezing it firmly in his hand, massaging the tender flesh and making her head spin even more. Her nails pinched into his biceps as she felt herself coming undone. He could feel it too, she knew he could as he buried his head into the crook of her neck to stifle his own sounds of pleasure.

One more rock of his hips sent her flying, every pore of her body tingling as she came. Her body sagged limply against the pillows as Robb twitched to his own end inside her, his heavy weight collapsing against her in the next moment and knocking what little breath she had left out of her. She didn’t mind though, she liked feeling his weight against her, she liked being caged under his body, knowing that she was completely at his mercy. Her body was still trembling as she came down from her release and she didn’t have the strength to protest when Robb shifted away from her, his length coming from her and separating them again. He flopped down next to her with a satisfied sigh and she couldn’t help the tiny, triumphant smile that adorned her lips as she rolled onto her side and pressed herself up against him. His strong arms encircled her at once as she draped a leg between his and placed a kiss to his chest. He turned his head and pressed a kiss of his own to her forehead in response and she sighed happily, feeling perfectly content in his arms as he traced his fingers gently up and down her spine.

“How far are we from the others?” she asked him when she felt she had the strength to speak again. “A few days at most,” he responded and she nodded against his chest. “I was thinking about Lord Karstark,” she said after a long moment of silence. “What about him?” he asked stiffly and she bit her lip, wondering if she should say anything or not. It would be easier to say nothing and not run the risk of angering Robb but then again, they couldn’t continue on the way they had been. “I was just wondering if there might be a way to placate him…” she said tentatively, feeling Robb’s head turn towards her. “What do you mean?” he asked, his fingers stilling against her spine and she swallowed hard before she lifted her head up to meet his eyes. “It’s not my place, I am not your council but…he has a daughter does he not?” she said carefully, watching his reaction and thankfully not seeing any anger cross his features. “Yes,” he said, “Alys, he brought her with him…to help cook and clean the camp he said,” he snorted, “I know well enough he brought her to try and charm me.”

“And it didn’t work?” she raised her brows and he grinned, slapping her bottom playfully. “No it did not,” he said, “why do you ask about his daughter?” his expression turned serious again and she took a breath before speaking. “You said yourself that you have many men lacking wives, could you not find an agreeable match for her?” she raised a brow, “It might go some way to relieving the tensions between you. It’s not good to have infighting when you have enemies on all sides.” Robb was looking at her strangely then and she wondered if perhaps she should apologise for speaking out of turn. Before she could though he had smiled and she felt relief flood her. “Beauty and brains,” he grinned wolfishly, “what did I do to deserve you?” She couldn’t help but smile at that, leaning into him as his hand came to tenderly cup her cheek and encourage her lips to his. They kissed for a long moment, slowly and sweetly and when she pulled away she only pulled back an inch so she could meet his eyes again. “I wish you’d marry me Jeyne,” he breathed and she wanted to cry. “Don’t spoil it Robb,” she whispered, “it is what it is…please don’t spoil it.”


	3. III

He was simultaneously longing to see his mother and dreading looking into her eyes. It had been bad enough when his father had been killed, but this… He shook his head to try and clear it as they proceeded into camp, the Stark banners fluttering in the light breeze. His eyes sought out his own wolf then who was prowling along behind him, his tail between his legs and his eyes mournful. Robb felt a slight stab of guilt, knowing he had changed towards Grey Wind but he couldn’t help it. He had always seen the wolves as strength and protection. Knowing what had happened to Bran and Rickon… He shuddered, what had their wolves done to save them? He had always felt invincible going into battle with Grey Wind at his side, feeling as though nothing could possibly touch him when his wolf was around. Now he wasn’t so sure, the memory of his injury at the Crag springing to mind. He glanced towards Jeyne who was riding at his side and he smiled slightly. At least some good had come from it, even if it would be short lived.

Robb pulled up his horse when he arrived in the middle of camp and dismounted at once. Olyvar was there in an instant, taking his horse’s reins and Robb thanked him warmly before he moved to help Jeyne down from her own mount. He couldn’t help but let his hands linger on her hips, wanting to pull her back into his chest and envelop her in his arms. In the next moment he moved his hands away from her as he caught sight of his mother in the entrance of one of the tents, a guard on either side of her. “Go and amuse yourself for a while,” he murmured to Jeyne, “I have to go and speak with my mother.” He lay his hand on her shoulder briefly and squeezed lightly before he moved away from her and approached his mother. No words came for him, all he could do was put his arm about her shoulders and guide her back into her tent. Her eyes that were so like his were shining when they met his and he swallowed hard before pulling her into his arms.

 How long she cried he didn’t know, but each sob that wracked through her body felt like a knife in his gut. This was all his fault. All his fault. “I’m sorry mother,” he somehow managed to get out without breaking down and she pulled herself away from him at his words, her eyes seeking his again. “This wasn’t your fault,” she whispered and he swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay composed. “I trusted him, I sent him to Pyke…” he shook his head and his mother’s hand came up to cup his cheek. “You did what you had to do, you needed the ships Robb,” she tried to smile for him and it looked as though it had cost her a lot of effort. “You warned me…” he started but she was shaking her head and he tailed off. “We cannot change it,” she said sadly, “they are with the Gods…with your father.”

“They shouldn’t be,” he whispered, pressing his lips tightly together to stop the tears escaping him. “I know,” she agreed sadly, patting his cheek lightly before moving it away. “I was so worried for you,” she said, moving away to pour two cups of wine, “terrified I was going to lose you…are you well recovered?” she asked as she approached him again, holding out one of the cups. “Perfectly well recovered,” he managed a smile for her before he took a long sip of his wine. “Who is that woman who returned with you?” she asked and he stiffened, knowing his mother would not approve one bit of what he was doing with Jeyne. “Jeyne Westerling,” he said after a long moment, unable to meet his mother’s eyes. “And what is she to you?” she asked him, her voice light but he could sense the underlying fury that would no doubt burst from her.

“She tended to me,” he said after a long moment, “she was…kind, she _comforted_ me when the news came about Bran and Rickon.” His mother was silent at his words and he somehow managed to lift his head and chance a glance at her. “You have a pact with the Freys,” she told him quietly and he nodded his head, taking another long drink from his cup. “And it is intact,” he told her and she looked faintly relieved but not placated. “You have taken a mistress before you’re even wed,” she raised a brow, “I must say Robb…I cannot pretend I am not surprised and...” she hesitated slightly and he raised his own brows. “And?” he encouraged her, knowing he wouldn’t like the next word that came from her mouth. “Disappointed,” she said and he felt five years old again and unable to look her in the eye. “It will stop, once I am wed it will stop,” he told her quietly.

“And then what will become of Jeyne Westerling?” she asked him and he did look up to meet her eyes. “This was not all me mother,” he said carefully, “I offered to find her a match from my own men but she refused me…she begged me to come and shameful as it is I could not refuse her. If I am to marry a stranger and live out the rest of my days with her can I not at least have a little chance at true happiness before I am bound forever in a marriage I don’t want?” His mother looked at him sympathetically for a long moment and he wished she would stop. “Do you think I wanted to marry your father?” she asked him softly. “Do you think he wanted to marry me? It was arranged just as yours was but we built something strong and real. I miss him every day, my heart aches for him…I loved your father Robb, but it was not always like that, it was something we had to build.”

“I don’t need to try with Jeyne,” he confessed and she sighed heavily, coming to take one of his hands. “Promise me you will not do anything stupid,” she urged him, “you need the Freys Robb, you need the men they have given you and likely you will one day have to ask them for more. You made a promise,” she finished, holding his eyes. “I know I did,” he said after a long moment, “but I would have broken it for her mother…I still would if she would have me.” His mother looked shocked at that, her eyes widening. “Promise me,” she said again, “after everything our family has suffered already do not make it suffer more. Promise me, look me in the eye and promise me Robb that you will not break this pact with the Freys.”

“I wish I could,” he said quietly and she looked at him despairingly. “Think about what you’re doing to yourself…what you’re doing to that girl,” she said quietly, “do you really think clinging on now is the best thing? It will only make it harder when you have to let her go…think about it Robb. Think about your heart, and think about hers.” Deep down he knew she was right but he couldn’t bear the thought of parting with Jeyne. Not yet. Not ever if he had his way. He squeezed his mother’s hand tightly for a moment, his eyes meeting hers which were insistent and almost hopeful. “I know you’re right,” he said softly and a tiny smile graced her lips, “but I can’t do it, I can’t let her go.”

“You will have to eventually,” she reminded him and he nodded, a wry smile tugging on his lips for a moment before he dropped her hand and moved to the flap of the tent. “I know I will,” he said as he pulled the canvas aside, “but until that day comes I will not be without her, I can’t be.” She made no reply and he left the tent, dropping the canvas back into place and walking towards his own tent that he could see the men had finished setting up for him. He thanked the last of them who were straightening up from hammering extra pegs and they smiled and bowed to him in response. Gods he hoped Jeyne was already inside. She was, a steaming cup in her hands and he smiled at her although it faded from his lips slightly when he saw the look on her face.

“What is it?” he asked, his eyes flickering between her and the cup in her hands. “Moon tea,” she said and he instantly wanted to knock the poisonous cup from her hands. He couldn’t move though, he could only watch on wide-eyed as she drank it all down, a grimace on her face when she lowered the cup, her body shuddering slightly. “Why?” he finally managed to whisper as she set the cup down again. “Why do you think?” she asked him incredulously. “Do you not think it will be hard enough being parted from you without you leaving a bastard in my belly? Do you think that would be easy for me? To carry your child, birth your child and nurture your child…how can I ever hope to escape you if I have a constant living reminder of you?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the only words he could manage and she turned away from him, her hands clenching around the edge of the table, her knuckles stretched white. “Jeyne, I’m sorry,” he said again, moving towards her and wrapping his arms around her waist. She felt tense and he wished she would relax, wished that he could find the right words to make her relax. “I can’t do it,” she whispered, “as much as I want to…I can’t have your child Robb, it wouldn’t be right.” He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the sweet scent of the soft tresses as he pulled her back against him, his lips pressing kisses to the top of her head as she allowed him to embrace her properly. “I wish you’d marry me,” he breathed against her hair, “I wish we could be husband and wife…I’d give anything for it, anything at all.”

“Don’t do this,” she whispered, shaking her head, “not now when I’m so weak…we can’t give in to this Robb, you know it’s wrong. You know you have to marry your Frey girl…deep down you know that, don’t you?” He nodded his head against her. Yes he knew. Deep down he knew, of course he knew. It didn’t stop him aching for the woman in his arms though. It didn’t stop him imagining them pledging themselves before the Gods. It didn’t stop him imagining her with a crown atop her head, sat at his side as his queen with her belly swollen with his child. He wanted it. He wanted it so badly but Jeyne was right. Deep down he knew she was right but it didn’t make him hurt any less. The guilt was stabbing him even harder now and he almost wished he hadn’t brought her. His mother was right, this was only going to serve to make things worse in the end. Seeing her with that moon tea…he shook his head, pulling her even more tightly against him. He was putting her through hell but still he could not bring himself to let her go.

* * *

Jeyne rose before Robb the next morning, ambling through the camp and avoiding making eye contact with any of the men. Usually she would stay in bed, snuggled up at Robb’s side when she woke in the mornings but watching him sleep this morning had made her heart ache even more than usual. She wished it would stop. She wished she could stop thinking about the end and just focus on what they had now while they were still allowed to have it. Still Robb kept springing the notion of marriage on her and each time he practically begged her to become his wife she crumbled a little more. She couldn’t let him know she was wavering though, he would pounce on her weakness at once and by the end of it she’d be his wife. That couldn’t happen. She cared too much about him to allow the possibility of him losing his war. Without the Freys he would be in trouble, everyone knew that, even he knew that even though he was too stubborn to admit it.

“Lady Jeyne?” she turned at the tentative female voice and swallowed hard when she saw Robb’s mother stood in the entrance of her tent. “My lady,” she curtseyed for her and hoped that she would be allowed to go on her way. “Would you care to share some tea with me?” Lady Stark asked her, “I have some food as well if you have not yet broken your fast.” The woman was smiling and Jeyne tried not to feel too on edge as she shyly returned the gesture. “Thank you my lady, that would be most kind of you,” she said and Lady Stark stood back to allow Jeyne to enter her tent. She hovered awkwardly once she was inside, not quite knowing what to do with herself. Lady Stark indicated her to take a seat at the table and Jeyne did as she was bid, twisting her hands nervously together as Robb’s mother poured two cups of steaming tea. “It’s nettle,” she said, “I do hope it’s to your liking, there is some honey if you would like to sweeten it.”

“Thank you,” Jeyne said, the only words her dry mouth would allow her to speak. She took a sip of the tea, finding it rather pleasant, before she chanced a glance at Lady Stark. The woman was beautiful, Robb certainly favoured her looks, but Jeyne could see that the war had affected her. Her eyes, though bright, were haunted and Jeyne imagined the fine lines around her eyes had come in the last few months. There were dark circle beneath her blue orbs and Jeyne vaguely wondered when the woman had last had a good night’s sleep. “I know why you’re here,” Lady Stark said after considering her for a long while, “I know what you are to my son.” Jeyne didn’t know what to say to that, her stomach lurching nervously as she slowly moved to take another sip of tea. “I imagine you don’t approve my lady,” she said after a moment, “but I promise you…his Grace will not forsake any vows for me.”

“As much as he wants to,” his mother’s eyes bored into hers and Jeyne wanted to hide from her gaze. “I would have to consent,” she said, somehow managing to hold her gaze. “And you will not?” Lady Stark raised one of her brows. “No, I will not,” Jeyne said, her voice coming out more determinedly than she had imagined it would. “And yet you consent to being his mistress?” her brow was still raised and Jeyne swallowed hard. “I will not be his mistress, his is not yet wed and when he is I would not share his bed,” she told Lady Stark and the older woman nodded slightly. “It was a foolish thing to come with him,” his mother said softly but her words didn’t sound as harsh as Jeyne had thought they would. “I know that,” she confessed, dropping her eyes, “I know it was wrong…what we did but it didn’t feel wrong…it doesn’t _feel_ wrong. I just want to hold onto him for as long as I can, I am spoiled already so what does it matter?” she shrugged her shoulders and smiled wryly.

“It matters because you are not just physically involved,” Lady Stark said, sadness tinging her tone now and Jeyne just wanted to fall apart and weep. “I’ve come too far to turn back now,” Jeyne told her, “my family will not have me back at the Crag, even if it is Robb’s forces who control it.” Lady Stark reached over the table then and took her hand gently in her own, squeezing lightly. “And what will become of you when he has to make good on his promise?” she asked her softly and Jeyne could only shake her head, her shoulders shrugging again. “I don’t know…I just don’t know,” Jeyne confessed, blinking back the tears that were stinging at her eyes. “My son is a good man,” she said, “this was very foolish on his part but he will not be swayed on the matter and I can see that you will not be either. I have to urge you though Jeyne, I have to urge you to take his offer when the time comes for this to end. Take his offer and marry one of his men, they will be good to you I can assure you of that.”

“They wouldn’t want me, not really,” she shook her head and Lady Stark smiled slightly. “I will tell you what I told Robb…over time you will build something. It may not seem like much at first and it may take many years but you _can_ be happy, take it from one who knows,” she squeezed her hand again and Jeyne was glad of the pressure. “Thank you for being so kind my lady, I know I have scarce done anything to deserve it. And I promise you now, on my life…I will see to it myself that Robb keeps his promise to the Freys.”

* * *

“You said you wanted to make amends uncle, would you at least consider it?” Robb asked Edmure who was relining back in his chair with an unreadable expression on his face. “Can I at least see the girl before I devote my life to her?” his uncle asked wryly and Robb smiled slightly. “Of course, she is out with the other girls preparing food,” Robb told him and Edmure raised his brows. “Are you sure she’s a highborn lady, is this some jape?” he asked and Robb really did smile this time. “She’s a lovely girl, just speak to her uncle, you can make your decision afterwards but I urge you to consent, I need the Karstarks to fall back into line…I’m afraid what lengths Lord Karstark will go to,” Robb said. Edmure sighed heavily at that and finally stopped rocking his chair back and forth, rising up to his feet and going for the flap of the tent. “I will speak to the girl,” he said as he pulled the canvas back, “and then I will make my decision.”

“Thank you,” Robb said sincerely and his uncle nodded curtly before leaving the tent. Robb turned back to the table and picked up his discarded cup, refilling it with wine before he too left the tent. His eyes found Edmure by the fire, he had a smile on his face as he spoke with Alys Karstark. Robb was pleased to note that she looked pleased to be speaking with him, a light blush on her cheeks as she smiled shyly at him. His uncle was a slave to a pretty face, Robb had learned that much from his mother, and he was pleased to note how right she had been. Jeyne caught his eye then, leaving his mother’s tent and he narrowed his eyes slightly at the sight. She was retreating back to his own tent, her head bowed as she strode purposefully towards it. Gods, he hoped his mother had not said anything to upset her. He would have to resist going to see her just yet, wanting to sort out a deal between Edmure and the Karstarks first. Hopefully both parties would be willing.

 He rolled his eyes, it seemed all he did these days was hope and none of his hopes seemed to come to fruition. Edmure seemed to have come to the end of his conversation with Alys, reaching for her hand and pressing a lingering kiss to the back of it. Robb raised his brows and smirked slightly in amusement at his uncle as he turned to walk back towards him. “Don’t look at me like that,” Edmure growled as he strode passed him and into the tent. “I’ll do it,” he added as Robb followed him in, “best you get her father here now before I change my mind.” Robb’s smirk only grew bigger at his words and he clapped his uncle heartily on the back. “I knew you’d see sense,” he said, “I’ll have her father sent for.” With that he turned and walked out of the tent again, beckoning Olyvar to him when he saw him tending to the horses. “I would speak with Lord Karstark,” he said as soon as his squire was close enough to hear him. Olyvar bowed shortly at once; “I will return with him promptly your Grace.”

Robb went back in to join Edmure, seeing his uncle deeply drinking from his wine cup. “Thank you for doing this,” Robb said sincerely when he lowered the cup from his lips. “I needed to make amends,” his uncle said shortly, “besides, I’m in need of a wife and she’s pretty enough.” Robb nodded slightly before taking a sip of his own wine and settling himself down at the head of the council table. He had only just settled when the flap of the tent opened and Lord Karstark strode in. “You wanted to see me your Grace,” he said, his eyes fluttering suspiciously between Robb and Edmure. “Please, sit my lord,” Robb invited, indicating the chair opposite where Edmure was sat. “Olyvar, some wine for Lord Karstark,” he continued and his squire moved at once to pour another cup. When it was placed in front of him Lord Karstark took a long drink and Robb waited for him to lower his cup again before he spoke.

“I know you have not been happy of late my lord, and believe me I understand your frustrations. I myself swore to stamp out all the Lannisters when my father was murdered,” Robb began and Lord Karstark inclined his head slightly. “However, you must understand I am not in a position to execute my only hostages, our leverage over Tywin Lannister is minute at best, I cannot decimate it,” he continued and again Lord Karstark inclined his head. “I do understand your Grace, I know my behaviour has been less than proper towards you,” Lord Karstark said and Robb tried very hard not to raise his brows at his words. “Thank you my lord,” he tipped his cup in his direction before taking another sip. “I have a proposal to put to you,” he continued, “as you know we have long been kin to one another and I would like to strengthen such bonds.”

“How so your Grace?” Lord Karstark asked evenly but Robb could practically see his mind trying to work it out. “My uncle Edmure, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Riverlands,” Robb indicated Edmure and Lord Karstark nodded slowly. “He is in need of a wife, and I would propose your daughter Alys as a perfect match for him,” Robb finished, his eyes not leaving Lord Karstark, watching his reaction carefully. “That would be a great honour your Grace,” he said after a long moment, “I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you would consider Alys…and you my lord,” he added, inclining his head towards Edmure who managed a smile for him. “She comes from a great family,” Robb said, “we are all honoured. Can I presume that you consent to the match?”

“Whole-heartedly your Grace,” Lord Karstark smiled for the first time in what seemed like forever and Robb allowed himself a small sigh of relief. “Uncle?” he looked towards Edmure who met his eyes for a moment before nodding slowly. “Of course your Grace,” Edmure said before taking another sip of wine. “Good,” Robb smiled, clapping his hands together and thinking about how exactly he was going to thank Jeyne for this idea. “Since we are all in agreement I propose a wedding take place once my grandfather is seen safely to the Gods. I think you would agree my lords that we have had scarce reason to celebrate these past months…it is only right we should rectify that.”


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caught up to where I am on FF.net now. Updates will be regular, at least one a week, hopefully people enjoy.

* * *

The black had all been packed away. The mourning faces gone. The mood lifted. For most at least, for Catelyn her own mood was as black as the dress she wore. Always black, since Ned it had always been black. Once she had thought she might one day wear colours again but then her boys were snatched by the Gods and she could no longer face the thought. Always mourning. Forever and ever. Her heart ached with the effort of it all and she felt guilty for wishing her grief away. Just one moment. One moment that’s all she needed. One moment of relief. It wouldn’t come, she knew that. She had to throw all her efforts into helping Robb now; that was the only way she could ever hope to see her girls again. If she lost them too… She shuddered at the thought. It didn’t bear thinking about. Already she was on edge each time a letter was delivered to her son, just waiting for him to turn to her and deliver even more bad news.

Robb was struggling with his own turmoil, and even though she knew the situation with Jeyne was a mess of his own making she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Already he had so much to deal with and all with the heavy weight of a crown atop his head. No longer was he her little boy but a man grown and a king to boot. She wished he was still her little boy sometimes, especially when she saw him at the head of his council table, his face set just like his father’s and the bronze crown perched effortlessly on his dark auburn curls. It terrified her how grown up he was. It terrified her that he could lose this. He was still hell-bent on taking Casterly Rock and planned constantly with his lords. Catelyn wished she could stomach sitting in with them as she used to but hearing plans for yet more fighting turned her stomach. She wanted to go home, reclaim Winterfell and keep what was left of her family safe from all the evils of the world.

A wry smile tugged on her lips as she looked out over the river. What family did she have left? Her boys were dead and her girls were lost. How could she just leave them to their fate? How could she just take Robb home and abandon the rest? She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. No matter how much it hurt she would keep fighting for them. She would fight until the very last breath left her body to bring the scattered remains of her family back together again. Footsteps came behind her but she had no desire to turn around and see who was approaching. Hopefully they would walk on passed her but somehow she doubted it. She was right. They didn’t, they came right to her side and she turned her head to see her brother there. Her little brother. It had been too long since she had seen him but she had recognised him at once when they had seen one another again. Little Edmure. She smiled slightly. Little Edmure was little no more and come sunset he would be a husband. She hoped he would try and be a good one. Her brother was fond of women; that much she did know. Gods she hoped he would not break little Alys Karstark’s heart.

“Out here all alone,” he commented after a long moment, “I had thought to have a moment to myself before the wedding,” he grimaced slightly as he came to the end of his sentence and she smiled again. “She’s a sweet girl Edmure, you could be happy together if you make a bit of an effort,” she advised him and he sighed heavily. “I know Cat,” he said, “I know.” He was looking down the river when she turned her head to him again and a frown creased her brow as she remembered their father floating down there on his funeral barge. That had been three days ago, it felt like three minutes ago. “I feel it’s all come too soon,” Edmure confessed and she reached her hand out to take his, feeling him squeeze tightly. “Father would be pleased you are finally settling down,” she told him, “besides…he was in pain Edmure…that was no way for him to live, not a man like that.”

“I know,” Edmure agreed distractedly, tightening his hand around hers again for a moment. “You ought to get back inside and right yourself for your nuptials. You don’t want to keep your bride waiting,” she smiled for him and he turned to meet her eyes, a tiny frown creasing his brow. “How do you do it Cat?” he breathed, “After everything that has befallen you and your family you are still standing…how do you do it?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly, “thoughts of my girls needing me…of Robb needing me. Ned wouldn’t want me to give up, I can’t leave our children without both of their parents. I can’t give up on this life while they still need me. Somehow I have to believe that there is light at the end of all of this, that one day we can all step back out into it.”

“Now I just feel bad for having doubts about this wedding,” he smiled slightly after a moment and somehow she managed a small laugh. “We all have doubts Edmure, do you not remember my own wedding…Lysa’s wedding. Shoved in the Sept together and paired off to men we barely knew. I was still crying myself to sleep over Brandon and just like that I had to marry his brother,” she shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips as she met her brother’s eye. “When you put it like that I suppose I am rather fortunate,” he said almost sheepishly and she managed to smile properly at him. “One day you will look back and wonder why you ever doubted it,” she told him, reaching up to pat his cheek affectionately. “Do you have the same hope for Robb?” he asked her with a raised brow and she sighed heavily. “I have to have the same hope for Robb,” she replied, “because the Gods know he doesn’t have any of his own.”

* * *

Robb watched on enviously as Edmure and Alys clinked their wine cups together, sharing a smile before each taking a sip. How simple their ceremony had been. Only a few words spoken and they were bound together for life. How he longed for that for himself. With Jeyne. His eyes sought her out, sat at one of the long tables in conversation with one of the ladies of Riverrun that he didn’t know. She looked happy. Relaxed. He looked back to Edmure and Alys who were deep in conversation with one another and tried to swallow down the bitterness. He ought to be happy for his uncle. He was really, underneath his jealousy he was happy for him but how he wished it was him and Jeyne sat up there at the high table in the seats of honour. How he wished she would just say yes. He had given up asking her, her resolve only seemed to strengthen the more he suggested it. She wouldn’t marry him, he was resigned to it now. That meant that sooner or later he would have to make good on his promise to Walder Frey and marry one of his daughters. He vaguely wondered whether he ought to ask Olyvar about his sisters but he pushed the thought away at once. Right now he didn’t need to think about the Frey girl. Right now he still had Jeyne and he intended to enjoy her.

He slid his eyes back over her, noting the sparkle in her own as she laughed with the woman she was sat with. Seeing her so happy brought a smile to his own face but his happiness was tinged with regret. Regret that one day he would wake up without her at his side. Even worse, next to a woman who wasn’t her. He tried not to resent his nameless, faceless future wife but it was hard not to. Again he reminded himself that she had had no more say in the matter than he had had. Even less no doubt. Robb could have said no, he could have marched a different way but crossing the Twins was the quickest route into the Westerlands and he had been desperate. His desperation had brought him only pain. Getting across that river quickly hadn’t saved his father and he was starting to doubt whether or not it would save his sisters. News of Sansa was scarce. News of Arya was none existent. He tried not to let that needle at him, refusing to think about that fact that he may have lost another sibling without knowing it.

Jeyne turned her eyes on him then and he brought a smile to his face for her. For once she seemed without care and he wouldn’t be the one to spoil her joyful mood. She smiled back at him, inclining her wine cup towards him slightly. He returned the gesture before he drained his cup, turning back towards the table to refill it once he had lowered it from his mouth. He couldn’t wait for the formality of the feast to be over so he could be back in her presence. It was stupid, having to sit so far away from her. Everyone knew they were lovers, it was no secret. Still, propriety had to be observed and so Robb was sat next to his mother who was doing her best to appear happy. He wasn’t convinced but he knew better than to draw attention to the fact. “More wine mother?” he asked her when he had filled his own cup to the brim. “Thank you,” she smiled, “do you think it would be rude of me to retire once the dancing begins?”

“Of course not, if you’re tired mother then you ought to go to bed,” he smiled back at her and she patted the back of his hand affectionately. “Thank you,” she said meaningfully and he inclined his head towards her before they both turned their attention to their wine. The servants were trickling into the dining hall now, clearing plates as quickly as possible and Robb knew that it was likely the music would soon strike up. He was itching to get to his feet, not so he could join the dancing so much but more that he would have a legitimate excuse to press Jeyne’s body up against his. Let his hands wander… “How long until we march again?” his mother pulled his mind away from his sweet Jeyne and he cleared his throat slightly before answering her. “We will rest here a while I think,” he said, “I have a meeting with the lords tomorrow, we will decide on further plans.”

“Do you still intend to take the Rock?” she asked him, a slightly fearful look in her eyes. “I intend to bring the Lannisters to their knees,” he replied calmly, “so yes, I still intend to take the Rock.” She took his hand in hers again then and squeezed so tightly it was almost painful. “I can’t lose any more Robb,” she whispered and his guilt bubbled up inside him again, so much of it he was surprised he didn’t explode. “I wouldn’t try if I didn’t think I would succeed,” he promised her, turning to look at her and seeing her eyes shining with tears. “I know,” she nodded determinedly, “but it is not just you I am thinking of…the girls are at the Capitol, what if they do away with them in retaliation?” He sighed heavily at that, the thought had crossed his own mind but his lords had soothed his fears, now he had to soothe his mother’s. “If they murder the girls they will have nothing over us, nothing to stop us destroying them completely,” he said.

“Yes,” she was nodding again, as though trying to convince herself of his words, “yes you’re right…of course you’re right.” She squeezed his hand again, more gently this time and he brought another smile to his face for her before picking up his wine up again and drinking deeply. A few days to rest and form a real plan. Hopefully it would do them all good to actually be settled somewhere, no matter how brief the time might be. He had hopes that being at her childhood home again might relax his mother, even just a little. He wished he could take her pain away from her but he knew that he never could, king or not. His mother would feel her losses for the rest of her days. He would too, but it was worse for her, one look into her eyes confirmed that to him. The music struck up then and several couples made their way to the centre of the hall where there was room enough to dance. Laughter and revelry were all that could be heard and he could understand well enough why his mother would want to escape it. “My cue to leave,” she said softly, squeezing his hand once more before releasing it and rising to her feet. “Goodnight mother,” he said, “try and get some sleep.”

“I will try,” she promised him, resting her hands on his shoulders before bending to kiss his cheek. “Goodnight Robb,” she forced a smile for him which he returned before she retreated to the other end of the dining hall and disappeared out of the open double doors. Robb drained his cup of wine again before setting it down and rising to his feet. On the other side of the hall Jeyne caught his movement and he inclined his head to her, a smile spreading across her beautiful lips as she said something to the woman she was seated with before rising up. He ignored the whispers and the stares as she walked towards him, outstretching his hand to her when she was close enough. She placed her soft hand in his and he pulled her into his arms at once, his hands assuming the appropriate positions for dancing as her own did the same. “Did you enjoy your meal?” he asked her as they began to move, seeing a light blush on her cheeks as the whispers seemed to increase in volume. “It was lovely,” she smiled, “and you, did you enjoy yours?”

“Very much,” he said, leaning in until his mouth was only an inch from her ear, “although I am certain I will enjoy you far more.” She was definitely blushing when he pulled away from her and he couldn’t help but smile widely at her. Being in Jeyne’s presence always seemed to just melt his fears away and he tried his best not to think about how he would ever be without her. “How is your mother?” she asked politely as they wound their way around the other dancers, their steps perfectly timed and even. “I’m not sure,” he said honestly, “but she could not stomach the revelry.” She nodded sympathetically, her hand twitching around his lightly. “I cannot imagine the pain she is in,” she said sadly, “but I pray that one day she will find some peace.”

“So do I,” he agreed, pulling her body ever so slightly closer to his. “It was a beautiful wedding,” she commented then and he smiled down on her again. “It was,” he agreed with her again, his hand on her waist squeezing slightly and making her squirm. “You are forgetting yourself,” she said, her eyes dancing with amusement and just a little hint of lust. “Can you blame me?” he asked her with a raised brow and a wide smile spread across her face. “They are all whispering, looking at us,” she commented then and he shrugged slightly. “Let them look, I will never be ashamed of us Jeyne, and you shouldn’t be either,” he told her meaningfully and she bit down gently on her bottom lip. Gods she looked desirable when she did that and he was desperate for her. For her to consume him. “We ought to go,” he said lowly and she raised one of her perfect brows. “Already? Before the bedding?” she asked him and he leaned in close to her ear again, his hand sneaking down to rest on her hip. “Yes now,” he breathed in her ear, “I fully intend to do some bedding of my own.”

* * *

Jeyne was breathless when Robb rolled away to her side, her chest rising and falling rapidly as he panted out next to her. It had been frantic from the moment they had left the hall, his hands and his lips had barely left her as they had somehow managed to find their way to his chamber. Her body was utterly spent, drenched with sweat and feeling utterly ravished. It was a delicious feeling, one she could still not get enough of. She turned her head to Robb then and he turned his own at her movement, a smile lighting up his face as he turned onto his side. His hand came to cup her cheek tenderly and she wanted to cry at the look of adoration in his eyes. What she wouldn’t give for him to look upon her like that for the rest of their days. It was not to be. It could not be. She could savour it now though. She could imprint the perfect image in her mind for the rest of time, perhaps it would be a comfort to her. Perhaps it would be a curse. Either way she would treasure it. She would treasure every moment she spent in his presence.

She slid her own hand up to mirror his, cupping his cheek and rubbing her thumb up and down his rough jawline. His stubble was growing longer, almost a full beard now and she loved the way it scratched against her skin. The perfect contrast to his soft kisses. “I love you,” she whispered before she could stop herself and she saw the pain and the joy mingling in the depths of his beautiful blue eyes. “I love you too,” he whispered back and she was at once elated and in despair. No good could come of them loving one another but she couldn’t regret her feelings. She would never wish them away, not in this lifetime nor the next. He opened his mouth to say something else then but she didn’t want to hear it, slipping her hand from his cheek and over his mouth. “Don’t say anything,” she whispered before she moved her hand away, “don’t say another word…just let it be Robb.”

* * *

His crown felt heavier today and he longed to take it off but his lords were filing in now and so he sat up straighter at the head of the table and smiled for them. They inclined their heads to him, some muttering their greetings as they settled themselves down around him. “Casterly Rock,” he said simply when they were all arranged about the table and several of them grimaced. “A siege,” Lord Karstark said at once and others around him murmured their agreement. “Most like,” Robb agreed and the older man nodded wearily. “We’ll need more men if we are to cut the supplies from Lannisport and the other neighbouring towns,” Maege Mormont put in and Robb inclined his head to her. “I agree,” he said, “even if the siege is successful we will likely encounter Lannister men at one point or another.”

“Another five thousand and I will sleep easier at night,” Lord Flint put in and Robb nodded again. “Lord Umber has two thousand already in the Westerlands,” he reminded them and there were more nods of agreement. “That still leaves us three thousand short your Grace,” Lord Karstark raised his brows and Robb sighed heavily, not relishing the next words that came out of his mouth. “I know,” he agreed, “which is why I intend to write to Lord Frey.” There were raised brows at his words and many shared a look of surprise which did not go unnoticed by Robb. “You think Lord Frey will part with so many?” Lord Cerwyn asked him slightly nervously after an intensely awkward moment of silence. “He pledged his support for me and I pledged to make his daughter a queen, he will keep his word if he expects me to keep mine,” Robb said icily and suddenly no one around the table seemed able to look at him. “Very good your Grace,” Lord Karstark finally said quietly.

“I’m not sure that’s quite the word I would use my lord,” Robb said wryly and a few of them mustered sympathetic smiles for him and he wished they would stop. “How many men does Lord Bolton still have at Harrenhal?” Lord Flint spoke up then and Robb was eternally grateful for the change of subject. “A few thousand, although I expect him to garrison Harrenhal and return to the main army soon,” Robb replied and Lord Flint nodded slowly. “What of Winterfell?” Lord Cerwyn asked and Robb couldn’t help but clench his fists, his knuckles stretching white. “As much as I would relish moving north and tearing the Ironborn limb from limb our objective is Casterly Rock. We need the whole army for that, we cannot afford to let the opportunity slip away from us. Tywin Lannister is at the Capitol, if we tarry too long we run the risk of him finding out our plans. We have to move quickly, do you not agree?”

“Aye your Grace,” almost all the voices of his council chanted back at him and he was gratified by their response. “Is there anything else we need to discuss?” Robb asked them then, his eyes scanning each of their faces in turn but none of them spoke up. “Good,” he said softly, “then our meeting is at an end, I will write to Lord Frey at once and hope his response is prompt.”


	5. V

It was much as he had expected it to be. Men for a wife. Lord Frey would give him five thousand, more than he had asked him for, on the condition that he take one of his daughters as his wife first. Robb ran a hand through his hair in a frustrated manner. He had hoped for more time. More time with Jeyne. He closed his eyes and tried to work out the time left in his head. There was no way he could justify marching his men back to the Twins. No. If Lord Frey wanted his daughter wed then he would have to send her to Riverrun. It would take a little under a week if conditions were good and Robb wanted to groan out his frustration. One week left with Jeyne. With the woman he loved. After that he would belong to another, like it or not. He sighed heavily and set down the parchment, calling for Olyvar as he did so. His squire appeared in a moment and Robb requested he fetch him his mother, dropping his head into his hands as soon as his future good-brother disappeared from his presence.

A soft knock came on the door a few minutes later and he raised his head from his hands. “Come in,” he called out heavily, the door opening to reveal his mother in the next moment. “What is it?” she asked him at once and he could only assume his inner dismay was showing on his face. “Lord Frey has promised me five thousand men,” he told her dully and she frowned slightly, coming to sit opposite him. “That’s good isn’t it? That’s more than you wanted –”

“If I marry one of his daughters first,” he cut her off and she sighed in understanding, her hand sliding across the desk to take one of his. “You knew the day would come,” she said softly and he shook his head. “I never expected it to come this soon,” he said, almost laughing in disbelief. “It doesn’t seem like you have much choice in the matter,” she told him gently, her hand tightening around his. “I know,” he said quietly, raising his head to meet her eyes. “I can’t go all the way to the Twins, I cannot justify the time it would waste. I intend to reply to Lord Frey, to name the girl I will marry…but since I never met any of them…” he trailed off, looking towards her expectantly and her brows raised. “Robb you cannot expect me to -,” she started but he cut her off, shaking his head. “You met them, spent time with them. I am trusting you to make the choice for me mother, I _can’t_ do it,” he implored her and she sighed heavily, contemplating him for the longest time.

“Roslin,” she finally said and he nodded slowly. “Roslin,” he repeated, swallowing hard. “She is of your age, she’s a slight girl but very pretty and she does not seem to have inherited any of Lord Frey’s less desirable traits which can only be a good thing,” she told him but he barely heard her. Suddenly his nameless, faceless Frey girl had a name and she had become all too real to him. “I spoke with her Septa and she assured me she is bright indeed, I do not think she will have any trouble with her duties or running a household when we do eventually return home,” his mother was still speaking and he did his best to concentrate on what she was saying. “She is from Rosby stock so fertility should not be a problem for her despite her slight frame…she is Olyvar’s full sister, perhaps you could ask him a bit more about her?”

“Perhaps,” he muttered and she squeezed his hand again, sympathy dancing in her eyes. “I know this isn’t how you would want to be married Robb, but it is what you promised and your father would be proud of you for keeping your word despite such temptation. _I_ am proud of you,” she smiled properly for him and her sincerity made him want to cry. “I don’t want this mother,” he confessed in a whisper and his mother stood up at once and rounded his desk. He stood as she came to him and in the next moment he was sobbing in her arms, clinging onto her as she hushed him gently, her hands rubbing up and down his back to soothe him. Her motherly actions only made him cry even harder, feeling just as weak as he had done that night in Jeyne’s arms. That night he had surrendered to all those carefully hidden feelings for her that had grown up over the weeks she had tended to him. “I want Jeyne,” he sobbed and his mother held him even tighter, “I want Jeyne.”

* * *

Jeyne was sat sewing in the window seat, only half focused on what she was doing as her eyes were drawn to the stunning views surrounding Riverrun. She had pushed open the window slightly so she could hear the roar of the river Trident, the sound of it rushing in her ears oddly soothing to her. Robb was in meetings again and she grew bored on her own. Usually she spent time with Alys but she had been bundled off to see the seamstress, a wedding gift from her new husband. Jeyne was glad they seemed happy with one another and she knew that Robb was relieved. He had tried to hide it but she knew he felt guilty about pushing his uncle into a marriage he was uncertain of. It seemed there had been nothing to feel guilty about after all, Alys seemed more than content and Jeyne had noticed Lord Tully walking the hallways of Winterfell with a happy spring in his step. She wondered if Robb would ever be as happy with his Frey girl but she stopped quickly, not wanting to even think of it.

The door opened in the next moment and Robb strode in looking rather apprehensive and her welcoming smile faltered at once. It only took her a second to note his red rimmed eyes and the pained expression on his face. He had been expecting word from Lord Frey. She could only assume that his response had come and had not made for pleasant reading. Somehow she knew just from the way he was looking at her that the end was coming for them more quickly than either of them had anticipated. “When will it happen?” she asked him and he didn’t even look surprised at her question as he moved slowly towards her. “I’ve sent word back to the Twins, if Lord Frey acts swiftly which I have no doubt he will, then she will arrive in little over a week,” he told her and she nodded slowly, taking a long, deep breath. “Does she have a name?” she asked after a painfully long moment of silence. “Roslin,” he said stiffly, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Pretty name,” she said vaguely.

“I don’t want her!” he burst out furiously in the next moment and she couldn’t help but flinch. He noticed her reaction and regret flooded his blue orbs at once. She shook her head, setting her needlework aside and standing up to face him. “You have to try,” she whispered to him, rubbing her hands soothingly up and down his upper arms; “you have to try Robb, it’s not fair on her. She is travelling away from her home and from all she knows to marry a man she has never laid eyes on. I know this is difficult for you but try and consider what she must be feeling. It’s not her fault you fell in love with me…please Robb, will you promise me you won’t blame her?”

“How can you be so calm about this?” he asked her incredulously and she smiled faintly at him. “We always knew this day would come Robb,” she said softly, moving one of her hands up to cup around his cheek. He leaned in to her touch, exhaling deeply, his eyes closing a look of pain crossing his features. “I’m so in love with you,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling at her palm before he turned his head fully so he could press a kiss to her hand. “We will always have our memories,” she whispered back and he stepped closer to her, enveloping her into his arms. She could lose herself in his embrace all too easily, inhaling that perfect scent of him that she couldn’t quite place. “You will always have a place in my heart Robb Stark,” she murmured against his chest and he seemed to pull her closer to him. “I wish we could run away and leave all this behind,” he said regretfully, his lips coming to press kisses to the top of her head. “You could never do that,” she said, pulling slightly away from him to meet his eyes, “you love your family too much to ever do that.”

“I love you too much to be a good husband to Roslin Frey,” he confessed to her then and she sighed heavily, a frown creasing her brow. “I doubt she is relishing this any more than you are Robb,” she told him gently but firmly, “you can be kind to her at least, can’t you?” she raised her brows expectantly at him and it was his turn to sigh heavily. “I won’t mistreat her if that’s what you’re asking me,” he said and she smiled faintly before leaning back into his embrace, feeling his hands rubbing firmly up and down her back. “I just want you to be happy Robb,” she told him quietly as one of his hands came to tangle in her hair, “with or without me, I just want you to be happy.”

* * *

Roslin tried not to look at any of her sisters, cousins or nieces as they filed down the main stairs of the Twins, all making their way to the great hall where her father was waiting to address them. She had a fair idea why they were being summoned and it made her stomach twist uncomfortably. Her father was demanding the King in the North made good on his promise to marry one of them in exchange for more men. Roslin wasn’t entirely sure what the exact details of the arrangement were but she did know that the King was allowed his pick of them all. She felt slightly panicked then. What if he was here? Surely her father would have warned them if he was coming? She made the mistake of catching Arwyn’s eye then and her older sister smirked at her. Arwyn was determined to become queen. When the King’s mother had come to speak with them all Roslin and the others had barely had a moment with her as Arwyn had endeavoured to catch Lady Stark’s attention.

In Roslin’s opinion Arwyn was too old for the King in the North but she held her tongue on the matter. It was always easier to do that, especially around Arwyn. Likely when the King did arrive to make his choice none of them would even get a look in. Not that she minded so very much. She knew almost nothing about the King in the North aside from the fact that whoever he took as his wife would be dragged from war camp to war camp. Hardly what one would expect after suddenly being granted the title of queen. One of them would endure it though, that had been decided long ago. Arwyn strode into the great hall first, her head held high in the air as she walked purposely towards their father. Roslin resisted the urge to roll her eyes, just about. Arwyn might think she looked graceful and regal but in Roslin’s opinion she just looked haughty and aloof. While she did not know anything about the King in the North, she did know that the northerners preferred a simpler way of life to those further south. She did not think that Arwyn’s stance would go down very well with them at all.

“Girls,” her father greeted, his eyes shining with glee as he cast them over all of them. They all curtseyed for him and a satisfied smirk graced his lips. “The time has come for the Young Wolf to deliver on his promise,” he said and Roslin was faintly surprised that he wasn’t rubbing his hands together in triumph. “When will he be arriving father?” it was Arwyn who had asked, who else? “He’s not coming,” her father said and even Roslin frowned at that. “But -,” Arwyn started but her father cut her off at once. “He can’t waste time journeying so far, his choice will be sent to him at Riverrun,” he told them and Arwyn looked furious. “His choice?” she asked through gritted teeth and their father smirked, his eyes flickering towards Roslin who swallowed hard. “Roslin,” he said simply and her eyes widened, Arwyn rounding on her at once. “Her?” she practically spat the word and Roslin wondered if she ought to back away from her.

“Yes her,” her father said, rising up from his seat, “his mother was impressed with her polite demeanour and gentle nature, apparently it’s what her son _needs_ ,” he said the last word mockingly but Roslin had barely heard them, her head spinning. Her? She was to be his wife. His _queen._ Surely not. “Do you have anything to say girl?” her father barked at her, coming to a stop just in front of her and she shook her head numbly. “Best get packing,” he said more gently, an odd look in his eye, “you’ll be leaving tomorrow at dawn.”

“Yes father,” she managed, dropping into a curtsey for him before she turned and forced herself to walk normally out of his presence. Once in the entrance hall she broke into a run, fleeing up the stairs and falling through the door of her chambers, slamming it closed and leaning her back against it. She felt like she could barely breathe. The reality of her father’s words were truly sinking into her now and she put her hand to her mouth to stifle the sob that rose up in her throat. Why her? Why her? That’s all she could think as she allowed herself to sink to the floor, burying her head in her hands and crying until she felt there were no more tears left inside her. She cried for so long that by the end of it she couldn’t even remember why she had started in the first place.

Eventually she pulled herself together. The decision had been made, crying about it wouldn’t help anyone. She rose to her feet stiffly and crossed to the dresser, opening the doors and reaching up to pull down the trunk from the very top shelf. Never before had she pulled this out and she coughed slightly as the dust was disturbed from the top of it. She flung it down on the bed and stared at it for the longest time. She had never needed this before. She had never left the Twins before. Not once. Her eyes flickered to the window and her thoughts drifted to her brother, remembering his letters. The King was kind to him, more like a friend than a ruler, he even allowed him to call him Robb. Robb. Robb Stark. King in the North. Her future husband. Her forever. She repressed a shudder and turned back to the dresser to pull out the nicest dresses she owned. Only three could be considered fit enough, she supposed. She would need more than that, surely?

She bit her lip. Would it really matter if her dresses were not made of the finest silks and laces? She would be heading out to war not returning to a palace. But she would be queen…Gods that was a weight that she could not quite shrug from her shoulders. She would be queen to a king. Mother to princes and princesses if the Gods were good. This time she really did shudder. The thought of the bedding…she cringed. She had seen enough weddings at the Twins over the years. She had seen the terror in the eyes of the women and the lust in the eyes of the men, their hands pawing and snatching. Surely a queen would not be deserving of being treated in such a manner? It was tradition though, and traditions had to be upheld, no matter how humiliating they might be. She slid the iron hangers from inside her dresses then and began to neatly fold the first of them up. As she placed it in the empty trunk a knock came at her door and she took a deep breath before calling for her visitor to come in.

It was her niece Marianne, probably the person at the Twins she was closest to now that Olyvar had gone. Smiling for her was easy but her smile faded when she saw Arwyn enter just behind her, her eyes already narrowed. “We thought you might need some help,” Marianne said brightly and Roslin brought the smile back to her face. “That’s most kind of you,” Roslin said and Marianne went to the dresser to pull out a few more of her dresses. “You need more than three Roslin,” she said teasingly and Roslin forced a laugh. “Yes, I suppose I will,” she agreed.

“What I don’t understand is why you,” Arwyn spoke up and Roslin forced herself to continue calmly folding up her clothing. “I mean…Lady Stark barely said two words to you from what I remember. I suppose you’re pretty enough,” she sniffed and Roslin and Marianne rolled their eyes at one another, “but you’re just so dull Roslin, all you do it sit and read or sew or write things in that book of yours,” Arwyn went on, “a queen should be vivid and spirited and _eager._ ” She sounded almost wistful by the end and Roslin couldn’t help but smile slightly. “I’m sorry he didn’t pick you,” Roslin said sincerely, “truly I am…I’m sure you would have been a wonderful queen but you know that it won’t all be balls and pretty dresses. There is still a war going on Arwyn, likely I will see more mud and dirt than gold and jewels.”

“The war won’t last forever though,” Arwyn said dully and Roslin sighed in exasperation. “No it won’t, but it needs to be won. If the Gods are good the King in the North will prevail but when he does he will have to fight yet more battles to reclaim his seat. I dread to think what those accursed krakens have done to Winterfell,” she shuddered, “and it always looked so beautiful in the paintings…” she tailed off, shaking her head sadly. “It’s awful what they did to the King’s brothers,” Marianne said quietly then and Roslin nodded her head, even Arwyn looked troubled at the words. “Perhaps being married to you will bring him some joy?” Marianne suggested with a smile and Roslin returned it, pushing down her scepticism.

“I doubt that,” Arwyn said coldly and Marianne frowned at her at once. “Don’t be so cruel Arwyn, Roslin is lovely and kind; why would the King not want that?” she asked her crossly and Roslin swallowed hard at the wicked smile that graced her sister’s lips. “Because his heart belongs to another,” she said triumphantly and it felt like ice had pierced Roslin’s stomach; “did you not know? He picked up more than an injury at the Crag…he took Lord Westerling’s daughter as his lover and she left her family for him. They say he loves her, that he is rarely away from her side nor her bed. He would have married her had he not already been promised. Likely he will resent ever coming here and striking a deal with father, and resent the result of it just the same,” she finished, her eyes cold and malicious on Roslin’s own. “What’s her name?” Roslin asked her quietly.

“Oh don’t listen to her Roslin, likely she is making it up!” Marianne said furiously, placing her hands on her hips and glaring at Arwyn. “I am not, I heard it from father, he was in such a fury when he got the letter from Olyvar,” Arwyn told her, “and he would know, being his squire and all…” she tailed off, that triumphant look lighting up her face again and Roslin wanted to cry. Olyvar was her brother. Why would he not tell her such a thing if it were true? “You are wicked Arwyn,” Marianne shook her head, her own eyes blazing with anger, “you are bitter and jealous because Roslin was chosen above you. Instead of being pleased for her like a good sister should you are spinning nasty tales to try and make her even more frightened about leaving her home. Shame on you!”

“What is her name?!” Roslin demanded as Arwyn jumped up furiously from her chair and glared at Marianne. Both her sister and her niece turned their heads to look at her incredulously, Roslin had never once raised her voice to them. Even as a child she had always been quiet. Obedient. She was no fool though, and she would have the truth from Arwyn if she had to force it from her. “Jeyne,” her sister said after contemplating her for the longest time, “her name is Jeyne Westerling. And I’m not lying…perhaps I am jealous and perhaps it was spiteful to tell you but…well, if I was in your position, I would want to know the truth of it.” With that she turned on her heel and marched to the door, wrenching it open before stepping out and slamming it rather harder than necessary behind her. “Roslin?” Marianne said quietly but she shook her head vigorously and returned to her packing.

“There’s much to do,” she forced her voice to come out evenly, “if I want to sleep at all tonight then I’d best get a move on.” Marianne said nothing, she merely walked to the drawers and began pulling out shifts and nightdresses and folding them up into neat piles. Roslin moved to pull out stockings and deposited them in her trunk before she went back to the dresser and pulled out her sturdiest leather boots and shoes. There would be no point taking her beaded silk slippers, they would be ruined at once when they moved on to the war camps. She tried not to let her mind wander as she slotted everything into the little space that was left in her trunk. “You should retire Marianne,” she forced a smile, “it is mostly done, I just need to decide which books I want to take with me.”

“Are you alright Roslin?” Marianne asked her and she nodded, keeping the smile on her face. “Of course I am…go on, you go…thank you so much for helping me,” Roslin said and Marianne nodded, crossing to her and putting her arms tightly around her for a moment. “I’m going to miss you,” she said and Roslin clutched her even closer, “promise you will write to me.”

“I promise,” Roslin smiled properly when they broke apart and Marianne returned it. “You’re not going to dwell on what Arwyn said are you? You know she’s just jealous,” Marianne said seriously and Roslin nodded her head slowly. “I know,” she said, “and of course I won’t dwell on it, why would I?”


	6. VI

“The Greatjon has taken yet more mines in the Westerlands,” Robb reported to his lords as he read through the latest update from his most trusted general, “I will send instruction for him to make permanent camp at Oxcross. We can join him there once this wedding is done with,” he tried not to appear affected at saying those words out loud. Roslin Frey would arrive the next afternoon although he’d been trying to avoid thinking about that and what it would mean for him and Jeyne. “Would you send men ahead your Grace?” Lord Karstark asked him and Robb nodded slowly. “Aye, I intend to send yourself with men from Karhold and Winterfell, and I would ask that Lord Tully go with you,” he looked between the two men and they both nodded. “The rest of the army will follow on behind you, should any trouble come to the Greatjon then at least there will already be reinforcements on the way to him,” Robb finished and everyone murmured their agreements.

“I think we are done my lords,” Robb forced a smile, “my ladies,” he inclined his head towards Maege and Dacey Mormont as everyone seemed to rise as one from their places. “Your Grace,” they inclined their heads to him as they began to file out. “Uncle, could I have a word?” Robb asked before Edmure could slip out of the door and his uncle nodded, coming back to sit at the table. “What is it?” he asked as soon as the door closed behind the rest of the lords. “Will you be taking Alys with you?” Robb asked him and his uncle frowned slightly. “I had thought to leave her where she is safe, but I imagine she might not be pleased to be left behind,” Edmure told him and Robb nodded. “If you take her perhaps she could use an attendant?” he raised his brows.

“The lady Jeyne?” Edmure raised his own brows in response. “Aye,” Robb said uneasily, avoiding his uncle’s eyes. “I suppose it would be best for both of you if she is away from Riverrun before your intended arrives,” Edmure said quietly and again Robb nodded. “One can only hope,” Robb said just as quietly and his uncle sighed heavily before rising up to his feet and clapping Robb on the back before moving towards the door. “I will speak with Alys,” he said, coming to a halt, “doubtless she will be more than happy with the arrangement, the two of them seem to get on well enough.” Robb could only nod his thanks, managing a brief smile which his uncle returned sympathetically before he pulled open the door and disappeared from his presence.

Robb still couldn’t get his head around it. His future wife and queen would arrive tomorrow and there was nothing else to be done about it. Roslin Frey. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. He would have to tell Jeyne about his new plans for her. He hated having to make them, he had no claim on her to send her anywhere but what else could he do? She would not be welcomed home, she would be miserable if he sent her back to the Crag. Hopefully she wouldn’t be angry with him. Hopefully she would see that he had her best interests at heart. A soft knock came at the door and he wrenched his thoughts away from Jeyne and called for whoever it was to come in. Somehow he managed a smile for his mother when she walked in but her own expression was sceptical as she closed the door firmly behind her and came to sit on his immediate right.

“How was your meeting?” she asked him softly. “Fine,” he replied, “I’m sending Edmure and Lord Karstark ahead to the Greatjon with reinforcements,” he told her and she nodded her head slowly. “I’ve spoken with Edmure and he is to take Alys with him, I’ve asked if he would…if he would take Jeyne as well, to attend on Alys,” he continued, not able to look at his mother as he said the words. “I think that’s for the best,” she said quietly, “have you spoken to her about these new arrangements?”

“No,” he grimaced slightly and he heard his mother sigh. “You need to be honest with her, this is all difficult enough as it is,” she advised him and he knew she was right, he just didn’t want to risk angering or upsetting her, not tonight when it was the last time they could be together. “I just don’t know if I’m doing the right thing anymore,” he admitted to his mother and her hand came to squeeze around his forearm. “This was a very stupid situation you got yourself into,” she said but it didn’t sound as though she was scolding him, “only you can fix it Robb, and you’d best do it quickly because the party from the Twins will arrive tomorrow afternoon.”

“I’m aware of that,” he said stiffly and she squeezed his shoulder again. “I have to go mother, unless you needed me for anything else?” he said abruptly and she shook her head to which he stood up. “One day all of this will make sense to you Robb, I promise you,” she told him, holding his eyes for a moment. “I hope you’re right mother,” he said heavily, “because right now I can’t see a happy ending for anyone in any of this.”

* * *

Robb poured out two measures of wine as Jeyne reclined back on the sofa, her robe tied so loosely around her that he was having to concentrate very hard on what he was doing. She had come up to take a bath after dinner and he had given her a little time on her own, sensing that it was something she needed. Now she looked more relaxed than she had done at the evening meal but Robb felt as though every muscle in his body was tense. He approached with the wine and she took hers with thanks before taking a sip from her cup as he sat down awkwardly next to her, his mind racing. “If you have something to tell me I would prefer you to just say it so this tension can leave us. This is our last night together, whatever it is would you tell me so we can relax and try and enjoy it?” she asked him and he sighed heavily.

“I won’t command you,” he said, “but I had thought that perhaps you would like to take the role of Alys’ attendant for the time being.” She sat up straighter on the sofa then and he somehow managed to turn his head and look at her. “Alys is leaving at dawn with half of your army,” she said softly and he nodded his head. “I thought it might be easier…” he trailed off as she moved further towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, pressing her lips to his cheek. “I understand,” she whispered in his ear, “this is going to be hard for both of us but at least with me gone you might be able to get to know Roslin better.”

“I don’t want you to feel like I am casting you aside and pretending you never existed. I’m in love with you Jeyne, that won’t change no matter how far away you are,” he told her and she kissed his cheek again, more firmly this time. “I love you Robb,” she breathed against him, her warm breath feeling so good against his skin. “I will never regret this time we spent together,” she went on and he allowed his hands to come up and rub gently up and down her forearms. “We knew the day would come and we are on the brink of it…I wish we had longer my love but you and I were never destined for one another,” she said sadly.

“I don’t want to think about us being parted,” he whispered, turning his head and meeting her beautiful, dark eyes. “Then let us not think about it,” she whispered back, leaning in closer to him so their lips could meet. He kissed her softly, slowly, wanting to memorize the feeling of her lips on his, wanting to savour her for as long as he possibly could. He turned his body further towards her, sliding his hand down her cheek and then back to tangle in her hair as he deepened their kiss. She let a noise of pleasure escape her, the sound of it vibrating in his mouth and making him hard for her in an instant. His other hand snuck down across her collarbone and further down, loosening her robe as he went. He couldn’t help but linger at her firm breasts, feeling her buds pebble at his touch, her own hands coming to his doublet to ease the fastenings open. She moaned into his mouth again as he let his hand massage her breast more firmly.

Somehow he managed to tear his lips from hers and she was breathing hard as he trailed them down her jawline and to her neck, nipping at the tender flesh and eliciting a pleasurable gasp from her. She tasted so sweet and fresh from her bath and he wanted to kiss every inch of her, devour every inch of her. Her hands were pulling his doublet from his shoulders and he regretfully moved his hands away from her so he could hurriedly shrug out of it, loosening the ties on his tunic and tugging it quickly up and over his head. Now her hands were at his bare chest and he exhaled deeply in satisfaction as she leant in closer to him and pressed kisses to his exposed flesh, her nails scraping lightly down his stomach as her hands moved to untie the laces of his breeches. His own hands came to her shoulders to slide her robe away from them, leaning in to kiss at her neck again as she unlaced him. “I need you Robb,” she whispered between kisses, “I need you inside me.”

He could have exploded then and there but he steeled himself, wrenching his lips away from her and pulling at the tie of her robe. She stood then and slid it all the way off, standing completely bare in front of him and looking every inch a goddess in the dancing light of the fire and the low burning lanterns. Somehow he managed to move, to pull his boots from him before getting to his own feet, seeing Jeyne backing slowly towards the bed, her eyes not leaving him. He shoved his breeches down his hips as he came towards her, kicking them away from him as he crawled onto the bed that she had just lay herself back on. Her heart was beating wildly, he could tell from the way her chest rose and fell so quickly and enticingly, her breathing ragged as he came to move her legs apart. “Robb…don’t toy with me Robb,” she breathed out as he slowly rubbed circles into her upper thighs with his thumbs. He could only grin at her then as she reached out to try and pull him towards her.

He pulled back and she made a frustrated noise. “Don’t be so impatient,” he murmured, clenching his hand around her calf and tugging her leg upwards so he could drape it over his shoulder. “Robb,” she whined but he ignored her, kissing his way up her calf and along her inner thigh. He inhaled her sweetness as he came to settle between her legs taking a breath before he buried his head between them. A gasp and a cry of surprise left her as he allowed his tongue to explore her, savouring the taste of her in his mouth, slowing his ministrations as her hips rocked up into him. Gods she was so sweet. So sweet everywhere. His tongue sought out that little bud, kissing his way towards it and she moaned out wantonly when he found it. Her hands fisted in his hair and pressed him further against her, so close he could barely breathe but he hardly cared as she let out another moan, her hips bucking upwards again as he worked harder at her bud.

“Oh Gods,” she moaned out, “oh Gods, how are you doing this to me?” she was breathless and moaning his name in the next moment and he could feel her trembling. Somehow he knew she was ready to fall and just a moment more attention from his tongue had her crashing down, moaning out in ultimate pleasure. His name on her lips. He savoured her for a long minute before he slowly kissed his way up her abdomen and across her smooth, flat stomach. Her leg slipped down from his shoulder as her body lay there limply, her breathing laboured as he kissed his way up to her breasts. “I love every inch of you,” he whispered against her skin before he took one of her hardened buds into his mouth, his hand coming up to tend to the other one. He had her moaning again in no time, her own hands snaking up over his shoulders before she raked her nails down his back, pulling him further against her.

Her hands slid round to rest low on his stomach before she dropped one to wrap around his length, eliciting a groan from his own mouth that was smothered by the mound of her breast. She wrapped her legs up around his waist, tilting her hips up and guiding him to her entrance. Gods she really was impatient tonight. Her hand slipped from around him and at her movement he pushed his own hips forwards and buried himself inside her tight warmth. Gods she felt so good. She always felt so good. The feel of her. The taste of her. The smell of her. Her touch. Her kiss. Even just her voice. Gods he loved her. He loved her so much. He rocked his hips back and forth slowly, her own rising up to meet his as she inched her legs even higher up around his waist, a throaty moan coming from her on his next thrust. He loved hearing her make those noises. He loved knowing that his actions brought her as much pleasure as her own brought him.

They rocked together perfectly, slowly and deeply. Robb lifted his head from her breast to meet her eyes that were even darker than they usually were, clouded by lust. He groaned out as he buried himself entirely in her again, his hips pulling back as hers sank to the bed before they both rocked back into one another again. It was so easy being with her like this. Easier than breathing. Being one with her completed him and he could not quite understand how he would be able to live his life without her. He forced that thought from his mind. He wouldn’t think on that now, not now when he was entwined with his beloved Jeyne. Right now he would savour her. Right now he would think of her and how beautiful she looked sprawled naked beneath him with her body working in perfect harmony with his own. Right now he would only think on the pleasure and not dwell on the pain that was sure to follow. Right now he had her. He had her.

If only time could stop. If only they could be locked in this heady bliss forever, entwined as one for all eternity without care for anything or anyone else. If only. If only. He cupped his hands around her cheeks as she cried out again, her brow creased as she began to tighten even further around him. He leant in as close to her as he could get, his lips only a fraction from hers as they gasped and moaned together. The ultimate depths of pleasure awaited them and they both plunged down together, her name coming from his lips as his came from hers. His body collapsed down against hers as they both breathed hard, her hands rubbing up and down his back for a moment before they settled flat, holding him firmly against her. She needn’t worry about him moving away, he had no desire to do any such thing. He was happy laying here with her, still entwined completely with one another as her chest heaved against his own. “Jeyne -,” he whispered and she turned her head at once and pressed a kiss to his lips before he could utter another word. “Don’t say anything,” she whispered back, “it’s perfect Robb, just hold me in your arms while you still can.”

He obeyed her, pressing a kiss to her lips again before he regretfully lifted his hips up and separated them again. His hold on her was tight as he rolled them over so she was draped across his chest, his grip only slackening as she settled down against him. She pressed a kiss above his heart as he let his hands come and settle on the small of her back, her breathing warm and even against his chest. That feeling was always so comforting to him for some inexplicable reason. Reason seldom came into it when it came to Jeyne. Before she had come into his life he had always been so rational, so level-headed. She turned him upside down and if it weren’t for her own rationality… He stopped that thought before it went too far. It was too late. Far too late. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before dropping his head back against the pillows and closing his exhausted eyes.

* * *

When Jeyne woke she recognised that faint light that came just before dawn and she carefully moved herself away from Robb’s embrace. He huffed in his sleep but thankfully his eyes didn’t flutter open, his deep, even breathing continuing on after a moment. She swallowed hard and moved off the bed, collecting up her discarded robe and wrapping it around her before she quietly began moving about the chambers and collecting up her few belongings. There hadn’t been much time to collect many things from the Crag when she had made the decision to leave and she was glad of it now as she packed everything away into her trunk besides her clothing for the day and her riding cloak and boots. She glanced back towards the still sleeping Robb for a moment before she slipped off her robe and swiftly pulled a shift over her head before wrapping her dress around her and tying it tightly. She left the boots and cloak by the door before bundling her robe into her trunk and closing in securely, lifting it up and carefully moving that to the door as well.

Thankfully Robb didn’t stir as it made a small thud against the floor and she breathed a sigh of relief before she crossed to the desk in the corner and pulled a piece of parchment towards her. She didn’t think too much about the words, she just wrote what she had to say, refusing to read back over it when she came to the end. She had no time to dither, not now. As she folded the letter up she moved to the window and looked down into the courtyard where horses were being saddled up and men were milling around. Dawn was just about breaking and she needed to get down to the yard so she would be ready to leave with the others. She crossed to the bed and tried to ignore the fact that each beat of her heart left her in agony. How could she leave him?

She lay the letter on the empty pillow before letting her eyes linger on his sleeping face for the longest time. Her love for him was so overwhelming that she could barely stand it. He was so beautiful. She longed to crawl back into bed with him and never leave his side but she had made her choice. She had made it a long time ago when she had refused to become his wife. If only he had not needed to cross that bridge. If only she could have been reckless enough to consent. It was too late. Far too late for regret now. Both of them had to let go and find some way to move on from the brief period of bliss they had spent with one another. She took a deep, shuddering breath, refusing to let herself cry, before she leaned in close to him and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead. He stirred slightly as she pulled back and mumbled something that she couldn’t quite make out. He stayed sleeping though and she thanked the Gods for it as she turned away from him and tiptoed to the door. She pulled on her boots quickly and threw her cloak about her shoulders before she picked up her trunk and turned the doorknob and silently as she could manage. She opened it just enough that she could slip around it and closed it quietly behind her.

* * *

“Jeyne?” Robb mumbled incoherently as he stirred awake, his eyes blinking rapidly against the bright sunlight that was streaming in through the gap in the drapes. He turned his head to the side and saw it was empty. He rolled over and placed his hand to the sheets next to him and found them cold. In the next moment he saw the neatly folded parchment and he swallowed hard, his fingers trembling as he reached out to pick it up. Part of him did not want to read the words she had left him with but he had to, scared as he was, he had to.

_My love,_

_I couldn’t bear the thought of saying goodbye. Perhaps it is weak and craven of me but I need what little strength I have to force myself to leave this room. I wish I could stay forever yours but we both know it is impossible. I will miss you every day and no doubt dream of you each night. I beg of you again to try with Roslin Frey. She is to be your wife and your queen, doubtless she is scared as it is. Try to put her at ease Robb, try and be happy with her, or at the very least content. I would hate to think of you miserable and I would never begrudge your happiness, it is all you deserve after all the horrors you and your family have had to endure. I will miss your mother, she is a good and kind woman and I bid you say farewell to her from me._

_I know I will see you again but it will never be as it was. It can never be as it was. I will always have a smile for you my love, and you will always have a place in my heart so long as I draw breath. It was a joy and an honour to have loved you Robb Stark. Farewell for now._

She was gone. He traced his fingers over her words and brushed the silent tears that had tracked down his cheeks away with his other hand before he took a deep, shuddering breath. He folded the letter back up and got himself out of bed, only now seeing that all her things were gone. After he wrapped his robe around himself he went for the window and pulled the drapes aside. From the position of the sun he knew it was mid-morning. She would have left hours ago, there wasn’t even a trace of movement on the horizon. They were long gone on their way to Oxcross. She was right, he would see her again in mere weeks but it could never be the same again. He found himself hoping that Edmure would house Alys in an inn so he wouldn’t have to see Jeyne in camp every day, so he wouldn’t have to flaunt his wife in front of her. He groaned then. His wife. Damn it all. He rubbed his hands over his face in a slightly desperate manner as he looked out towards the north instead of the west. There was no flicker of movement on the horizon yet but he knew that there soon would be. Roslin Frey would arrive within mere hours.


	7. VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been neglecting in thanking everyone who has left kudos, so thank you! Really appreciate it. 
> 
> Also, to Auir, thank you for the comment, I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, first interaction between them is coming up.
> 
> And to Sigil_of_House_Throckmorton, thank you! There will be more smut, but you may have to be patient for it! 
> 
> :)

* * *

Riverrun. Roslin took the hand that one of her guards held out for her and stepped carefully down from her carriage, staring up at the vast expanse. The Twins were vast but she had never seen them as beautiful. She had never thought anything so big and imposing could be seen as beautiful. Riverrun was. It was so beautiful she even mustered a smile through her wide-eyed wonder and apprehension. Somehow she tore her eyes from the turrets and the walls, moving them away from the banners that fluttered overhead and towards the doors of the keep which remained firmly closed. She had not been expecting that, she had thought that someone, perhaps not the King but _someone,_ would come out to greet her. She swallowed hard and looked towards her guard for guidance but he seemed just as perplexed as she was. Surely she wasn’t just expected to stand out here in the courtyard all day on the off-chance that someone would come out and help her.

Roslin took a deep breath, summoning up all the courage she could muster before she began walking towards the main doors. Behind her she could hear the footsteps of the guards that had been sent with her. Five thousand men had been sent with her as well but they had trickled into the army camp surrounding Riverrun, winding their way towards the other Frey banners that were fluttering in the breeze. Her father had given seven thousand now. Seven thousand men and a daughter, just to have the privilege of naming himself grandfather to a prince. Roslin repressed a shudder. Thinking of children made her think of her upcoming marriage and all that was expected of her. On the journey she had been able to push it to the back of her mind, concentrating on the views and all the newness of it all. Now she was here… Well, now she was here it was a different matter entirely.

As she came to the steps the doors finally opened and she could have cried in relief and happiness when she saw Olyvar emerge. She picked up her skirts and climbed the steps quickly, meeting him in a fierce embrace at the top. He squeezed her so tightly she could barely breathe but she didn’t care because she had her brother and her best friend back. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to greet you sooner,” he said as he finally slackened his grip on her; “the King was in council and he had need of me.”

“Is he still in council?” she asked and her brother nodded. “I’m to escort you to your chambers, I think you are to be introduced to him later…” he tailed off and Roslin swallowed hard, taking the arm he offered her and stepping into the keep with him. Their footsteps echoed in the vast entrance hall and Roslin fought the urge to shudder again as she thought about meeting with the King. Her _betrothed._ “Are you nervous?” Olyvar asked her as he guided her to the stairs.

“Would you blame me if I was?” she looked sideways at him and he raised his brows expectantly to which she sighed heavily. “I’m terrified,” she confessed, “I have no idea why he would even pick me and I haven’t the first idea how to be queen, especially at such a time. Do you know why he picked me Olyvar?”

“No,” her brother said and his simple answer only served to make her feel even more uneasy. Olyvar was the King’s squire and her full brother. She would have thought that the King might have _asked_ about her at least. Had he just picked her name at random from a list? Was it really that easy to pick a wife to spend forever with? She remembered what Arwyn had said about Jeyne Westerling then and her stomach churned uneasily. Perhaps Frey girls were interchangeable. Perhaps it wouldn’t matter which of them he married if he was already in love with another. She pushed the idea of him maintaining his mistress to the back of her mind, forcing herself to remember Marianne’s parting words to her. _“He is a Stark, Starks are honourable. He wouldn’t humiliate you like that.”_

Gods, she hoped her niece was right. “You’re quiet,” Olyvar stated as they wandered down the seemingly deserted hallways and she forced a smile for him. “I can’t believe how grand this place is,” she said honestly, “I can’t believe that I am even here.”

“You’ll be a wonderful queen,” he told her as they came to a halt in front of a highly polished door. “These are to be your chambers until you…well, until you wed the King.” She forced another smile then and stepped inside as he held open the door for her, her eyes wandering the vast space. Chambers fit for a queen, of that she had no doubt. She swallowed hard and crossed at once to the window, seeing that from where she was there was a perfect view of the river Trident. After a deep breath she turned and sent a more genuine smile to Olyvar who was lingering by the open door. “Do you have to go?” she asked him knowingly.

“I’m sorry,” he said apologetically, “the King will likely have need of me and I’d best tell him you’re arrived…I’ll see you later though, at the feast.” She nodded and he sent her a rather relieved smile before he backed out of the door and closed it firmly behind him, leaving her feeling more alone than she had ever felt in her entire life.

* * *

Robb had watched from the window as the carriage had pulled up, seeing the single solitary trunk fastened securely to the back of it. He had swallowed hard at the sight, trying to imagine fitting one’s whole life into such a tiny space. A twinge of guilt had twisted in his stomach as all he could think of was how much he was dreading meeting and marrying Roslin Frey. No doubt she felt the same about him. How was this fair? How was it fair on either of them that her father and his mother had struck up this deal that they had no say in? It was their lives damn it. He had rested his head against the window pane, reminding himself for what felt like the thousandth time that he had agreed to it. Likely Roslin had had no choice at all. He couldn’t help but think that she would be far happier with someone else. He damn well knew he would be.

When the door of the carriage had opened his breath had ceased clouding the window pane as he held it, waiting to see who would emerge. A guard helped her down and he could see, even from such a height, that she was a tiny little thing. Delicate. Breakable. Would he break her? He wouldn’t mean to…but how could he not? How could he ever be a good husband to her when his heart belonged to someone else? When he was in _love_ with someone else? He had forcibly pulled his mind away from thoughts of Jeyne when Roslin Frey’s dark head moved from side to side. He imagined she were looking around, likely she was confused as to why no one had come to greet her. Another twinge of guilt hit him then and again he swallowed hard.

She would prefer to be greeted by her brother. Surely? Robb would force himself to go and greet her later, perhaps after a cup or seven of wine. He had pulled away from the window when she had walked towards the doors of the keep and been lost from his sight. His eyes lingered on the flagon of wine and the cups stood next to it. He shook his head. Meeting her would be awkward enough without him being half drunk. No. He would have to be sober. Brave. He remembered the letter from Jeyne and all she had implored him to do. She wanted him to be happy. _How can I possibly be happy without you?_

He sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair. As much as he wanted to he couldn’t put off greeting Roslin and longer and so he marched for the door before he could change his mind, making his way down the hallways towards the guest chambers he knew she had been placed in. He hesitated when he came face to face with the door, raising his fist up to knock but somehow not being able to go through with the motion. Robb stepped back, still staring at the door for a long moment before he turned his head to see the hallway still deserted. He took a breath, rocking towards the door for a moment before he turned on his heel and marched back down the hallway towards his own chambers.

* * *

Catelyn paused for a moment before she raised her hand to rap her knuckles lightly against the door of the finest guest chambers. It was only a moment before the door opened slowly, revealing Roslin Frey to her. She smiled widely, hopefully putting the girl at ease, and was relieved when she opened the door fully and sent her a shy smile in return. “Lady Stark,” she curtseyed gracefully for her, “forgive me…I was not expecting you.”

“I thought it only right I should greet you,” Catelyn kept the smile on her face as Roslin stepped aside and gestured for her to come in. She did as she was bid, her eyes glancing around the room before she turned and fixed them on her future good-daughter. “I hope you have everything you need,” Catelyn said, “if you don’t then you only need to ask.”

“Thank you,” Roslin smiled, showing off the little gap between her two front teeth which only served to heighten her beauty in Catelyn’s mind. “Has my son greeted you yet?” Catelyn asked in what she hoped was an offhand manner as she walked towards the window. “No,” Roslin said and Catelyn was instantly furious although determined not to let it show on her features as she turned back to the young girl. “My brother said he was in a council meeting,” Roslin continued then, “he said he would greet me once it was finished.”

“Of course,” Catelyn smiled, knowing damn well that Robb was not in a meeting. “Can I offer you some wine Lady Stark?” Roslin asked her then, padding her way towards the side table; “I’m afraid I’m not sure where it’s from but I’m sure it will be just lovely.”

“I’m sure,” Catelyn smiled, “some wine would be lovely,” she continued and Roslin made to pour two cups. Catelyn noted her hands shaking slightly and the sight of it made her even more furious with her son. She knew that Robb was hurting over Jeyne and saying he was apprehensive about marrying Roslin was an understatement but the poor girl was away from home for the first time and set to marry a complete stranger. One thing her son had never been was heartless nor intentionally cruel. On this matter though…she shook her head slightly and took the cup of wine Roslin was now offering her with thanks. She took a sip as she lowered herself into a chair at Roslin’s invitation, all the while wondering where her compassionate little boy had gone.

“Can I ask when the wedding will be Lady Stark?” Roslin asked her quietly then, unable to meet her eyes. “In three days,” Catelyn told her, taking another sip of wine as she watched the girl’s eyes visibly widen for a moment. “I suppose his Grace will want to move on soon,” Roslin mused quietly and Catelyn nodded her agreement, bringing a sympathetic smile to her face. “I know it cannot have been what you imagined. I myself thought the marriage would not have taken place until after the war was done with,” Catelyn said.

“My father had other ideas,” Roslin said and Catelyn just wanted to get up from her chair and embrace the poor girl. She knew her mother was dead and she knew damn well that her father was one of the least affectionate and loving men in the seven kingdoms. The Gods know the girl could probably use some affection in her life. If only she could promise her that she would find it in Robb. Somehow Catelyn doubted very much that she would. Not for a time at least. “My son will be good to you,” Catelyn said, “he would never harm you nor mistreat you, I can promise you that.” It was about the only thing Catelyn could promise and she was pleased to note that Roslin looked vaguely more relaxed. “Thank you Lady Stark,” she smiled.

* * *

Robb was sat brooding in Edmure’s study when the door slammed open, hitting against the wall with an almighty crash. His head snapped up, his mouth opening to exclaim his surprise but he closed it again at once when he saw his mother stood there, her face a picture of fury. He didn’t really think he needed her to tell him exactly what she was so angry about but he imagined he was about to find out anyway. “I’ve just been sharing a drink with Lady Roslin,” she started through gritted teeth and he sighed heavily. “Imagine my surprise when she told me that you had yet to greet her because you were busy in _a council meeting!_ ” she practically snarled the last words and he cringed back into his seat, wishing she would stop looking at him like that. He felt guilty enough as it was.

“Get off your backside Robb Stark and go and greet that girl, courteously and with a smile,” she said menacingly and he could do nothing but get to his feet and move towards her. “I went to go,” he told her when he came to a halt in front of her; “I got all the way to her chamber door but I couldn’t bring myself to knock…I know I’m craven but…I just don’t even know how I’m supposed to look at her, let alone talk to her.”

“She is leagues from home for the first time in her life. She is scared Robb and trying her damnedest to hide it because doubtless she is terrified of being a disappointment to you. You need to remember your promise and you need to remember that somewhere inside this brooding, sulking mess is a kind and compassionate man who would never seek to hurt anyone!” she told him briskly, her eyes meeting his and holding them fast as she delivered her scolding to him. He felt like a child again. He felt like he had that time Arya had fallen out of a tree because he had given in and helped her up. Never did he ever feel shame rise quite so highly in him than when his mother scolded him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his eyes finding the floor and he heard her sigh heavily. After a long moment of silence he finally found the nerve to raise his head back up, seeing her looking at him more softly now. “I know you’re hurting,” she said gently, “but this doesn’t just affect you. Your lives are going to be difficult enough what with the war still raging on…at least try and get to know her. For both of your sakes.” Robb was nodding before she had even finished her sentence, knowing that she was right. He told her as much before he side-stepped around her and made his way for the guest chambers again before he could think up any excuse not to go.

He had to do this. His mother was right. He _had_ to.

When he reached the door he knocked without even thinking about it. He pulled his hand back and considered for a moment that he still had time to walk away. In the next second there was no time as the door was opened, revealing her to him. He swallowed hard as she blinked up at him with huge brown eyes. They were probably the most startling feature of her delicate face. She was beautiful. He could not deny that. She reminded him of a doll with all her tiny features and her big eyes framed with long dark lashes. The darkness of her eyes and hair was a startling contrast to her porcelain skin. So delicate. Everything about her was ever so delicate. “My lady,” he finally found his voice, knowing it had come out more stiffly than he had intended.

“Your Grace?” her tone was slightly questioning and he nodded, to which her eyes widened even further and she dropped down at once into a low curtsey. He could see the blush rising up on her pale cheeks and he shifted between his feet awkwardly. “There is no need my lady,” he said and she straightened up at once, her eyes darting about as they seemed to want to focus simultaneously on him and on anywhere that wasn’t him. “Would you…” she seemed to stumble over her words, her voice trembling slightly, “would you like to come in your Grace?” she managed to get out.

“I do not think that would be entirely appropriate my lady,” he told her, impressed despite himself that he had come up with a legitimate excuse to flee from her presence. “No,” she agreed, her eyes finding the floor now, “no, of course it isn’t your Grace…forgive me…I ought not to have said that.”

“You were being polite,” he shot in at once. She was clearly mortified and no doubt thought she had offended him or compromised herself. “But until the…wedding,” he somehow managed to force the word out, “I think it probably best we are not alone together…we would not want people to talk.”

“No, your Grace,” she agreed, her chin tilting up so she could meet his eyes. Robb forced himself to stay still as her searching gaze seemed to appraise him. He wondered what she was thinking, finding himself too craven to ask her. Likely he wouldn’t like her answer, no more than she would like his should she ask him what he was thinking. “Will I see you at the feast?” she finally asked and he swallowed hard.

“Most likely, provided I am not called away,” he lied. He had no intention of going to the feast. Now he had met her he felt he had done enough for the day. Somehow he didn’t think forcing himself to be in her presence would do either of them any good. He could practically feel the awkwardness and the stiffness crackling between them as they stood mere feet away from one another. For all intents and purposes they could be continents away given the vast gulf he could feel between them. One kind word from him could perhaps bridge the gap, make her feel at ease and perhaps bring a smile to her face. The trouble was, he didn’t want to bridge the gap.

“I will leave you now my lady, no doubt you are in need of rest after such a long journey,” he said and she looked vaguely startled by his words. Again, he wanted to know what she was thinking, but again he didn’t voice it. “Of course…thank you your Grace,” she dipped into a slight curtsey for him and he inclined his head to her before he turned away from her and tried his very best to keep his steps even as he retreated back down the hallways.

* * *

The King hadn’t come to the feast. He would say it was because he was called away if she ever managed to summon up the courage to ask him but she knew it wasn’t true. His lords had been there. Roslin had determined on the journey to Riverrun that she learn the names of all his banners and she had them all memorized. She asked Olyvar to point them out to her as they sat feasting and he had named over half of them. When she had questioned the whereabouts of the others he had told her that they had already taken part of the army to meet with Lord Umber at Oxcross. On hearing that Roslin was satisfied that her initial suspicion had been right. The King wasn’t called away. He just didn’t want to come.

She pulled her robe around her and tied it about her waist before she settled herself in front of the vanity and scrutinized her features. Was she really that unpleasing? Had she said something during their brief meeting to offend him? Surely she had not had the time. Perhaps he just didn’t desire her. Want her. She ran her hand over her cheek and sighed heavily. If she listened to the needling voice at the back of her mind then likely she would know exactly why the King seemed so indifferent to her. That nasty little voice sounded just like her taunting sister as it practically sang the name of _that_ woman over and over again.

Roslin picked up her brush and began pulling it through her hair far more forcefully than was necessary. She would _not_ think about her and the King. She would _not._ She would just have to try harder to try and capture his attention somehow. There was no chance of her deluding herself that he would fall hopelessly in love with her in the few days before the wedding but surely she could get it to the point where he could actually stand to be in her presence for more than a few minutes. They had to learn to at least tolerate one another. They would share their lives like it or not. Bound together until death. If the Gods were good they may even share children. Surely they ought to make an effort to at least be pleasant to one another.

She hated the awkwardness. Tension and hostility just made her want to run and hide but she knew she had to be stronger than that. Somehow she knew that the King wouldn’t be the one to make the first move, to make the effort to get to know her. Somehow she knew that he would be more than happy to avoid her until he was forced to pledge his life to her in the Sept. He would not seek out her company so that meant that she would have no choice but to seek him out and force it on him. She was not relishing it any more than he clearly was, but at least she could say she had tried.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never too old for a telling off from your mother...more Robb/Roslin interaction in the next chapter.
> 
> :)


	8. VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say big thanks again to those who've left kudos! Cheers folks!
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter. 
> 
> :)

* * *

Jeyne sat on the end of her make-shift bed, just staring at the cup of steaming tea she had made. She ought to have swallowed it down by now but something inside her was resisting. The weak and sinful part of her didn’t want to drink it down and take away any possibility that his seed had taken root inside her. Part of her wanted that potential, the potential to grow round with his child and nurture part of him inside her. She couldn’t. She knew that. It wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be fair on any of them. What she and Robb had shared had to be left in the past and bringing a child into it would make things a thousand times worse. She had to drink it and truly let Robb go. If she were pregnant with his child then he would never let her go, not truly, and it would be his poor, innocent wife who would suffer for it.

She sighed heavily and rose up slowly from the bed, placing her hands around the cup and feeling the warmth of the tea through it. Robb would be married soon. Perhaps he already was. She closed her eyes, trying not to think about him with another woman. In another woman’s arms. In another woman’s bed. She shuddered. This thinking needed to stop. She had made her decision when she had told Robb she wouldn’t marry him and it was far too late to start feeling regret for it now. It was the best thing for him, ultimately, even if he hadn’t seen it himself. He knew deep down, Jeyne had seen it in his eyes sometimes when he looked at her. She would see the longing and the regret in them but mingled within them was a hint of acceptance. Robb knew they couldn’t be, which was likely why he had eventually given up asking for her hand.

Sinfully Jeyne wished that he had just asked her one more time because she was just about ready to say yes. He hadn’t though, and she had kept her own mouth shut, enjoying that last night they had together. She closed her eyes and remembered how he made her feel, remembered them moving as one. The pleasure had been so overwhelming it had almost been painful. It had been all pain in the morning when she had woken in his strong arms, feeling so warm and safe with him wrapped around her. Robb made her feel so secure, so wanted. Needed. He needed her, that’s what he had told her so many times when he had practically begged for her hand. All she had wanted to do on those occasions was fall into those arms and tell him over and over that she needed him too. That she didn’t want to let him go and that she wanted nothing more than to be his wife.

That was not the role for her now. That role belonged to Roslin Frey and she couldn’t help but feel a large stab of bitterness as she thought of the strange woman. She knew nothing about her. Robb didn’t either, or nothing that he would tell her anyway. He had never met the woman but his mother had. Several times Jeyne had considered asking Lady Stark, but then she wasn’t sure whether she would like what Robb’s mother had to say. What if Roslin was lovely? Beautiful? Sweet, kind and caring? What if she captured Robb’s attentions the first time her set eyes on her? What if she was the one to complete him and make him truly happy?

She felt guilty then. She wanted Robb to be happy, she had told him so on so many occasions and had left it again in her parting letter. Robb _deserved_ to be happy after all the horrors he had had to endure and all those that were likely to come for him. If Roslin Frey could be the one good, shining thing that came to him during this damned war then surely she could not begrudge him that. Could she? Her eyes went back to the tea, her hands still wrapped around the cup, and she swallowed hard. Not drinking this would hurt them both more in the long run. She had let Robb go. She wouldn’t drag him back now, not when she no longer had any claim on him at all. Her memories of him would have to sustain her, she would not risk having his child. It would be too much for all of them and she was certain it would break hearts. Jeyne took another deep breath and raised the cup to her lips, draining down the foul liquid until there was nothing but dregs in the bottom.

* * *

It was the night before the wedding and Roslin had given up trying to get the King on his own. He seemed skilled indeed at avoiding her without making it obvious what he was doing. She knew though, deep down she knew that he had no desire to be in her presence and so she had resigned herself to the fact that the first time she would be alone with him would be on their wedding night. Roslin had to suppress a shudder at that as she walked down the hallway towards the library, tightening her robe about her as she went. Roaming about in her nightclothes was probably not the most appropriate thing to do but she couldn’t sleep and the books she had brought with her from the Twins were boring her. She just wanted something new, some adventure she could lose herself in for a time, or some beautiful pictures to gaze at.

She paused when she reached the door, glancing behind her to make sure that no one was around before she pushed it open and slipped inside. There was still a fire crackling in the grate and low burning lamps gave her enough light to see as she approached the shelves that were stuffed full of books. She crossed to one of them and tilted her head so she could examine the spines of them, waiting for something to catch her interest. “You’re up late my lady,” the King’s voice made her jump and she turned quickly, seeing him sat in one of the high-backed armchairs with a cup of wine in his hand. She swallowed hard and he raised his brows almost expectantly at her. Gods, was he angry with her? She really couldn’t tell, his expression giving away nothing.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she finally said when she felt like the silence had gone on too long, “I only came to get a book…I didn’t realise that I would be disturbing you your Grace. I will just take this,” she turned and snatched a random book from the shelf, “and leave you in peace,” she said, turning back towards him and bobbing a short curtsey before she made her way to the door.

“Sit,” his voice stopped her just as she made to walk passed his arm chair and she took a deep breath before she turned and walked slowly to take the seat opposite him. Her fingers nervously played with the pages of the book in her lap as he appraised her. Gods she wished she knew what he was thinking. “Wine?” he finally asked and she could only nod numbly. He leant forward in his chair and picked up the flagon from the low table that sat between them, pouring her a cup and handing it to her. She took it from him with thanks, irritated with herself that her hand was shaking slightly as she did so. To try and calm herself she took a few sips, seeing the King’s eyes on her again as she did so. Gods, what was he thinking?

“Do you like to read my lady?” he asked her, his eyes flickering from her face and to the book that was sat in her lap. “I suppose,” she answered him, “though I have to confess sometimes I just like to look at the pictures.” The King seemed to smile faintly at that before he leant back against the cushions of his chair and took a sip of his own wine, his eyes back on her face. “My brother was much the same,” he said after a long moment of silence and she allowed her own lips to twitch up slightly. She was afraid of saying anything, not knowing which brother he was referring to and worried to ask in case it was one of the two he had lost.

“Rickon,” he said after another few minutes, “the Maester used to despair of him…” He tailed off and smiled slightly wistfully. Roslin was afraid to speak and ruin his moment of quiet reflection, recognising the name of his youngest brother. What she wanted to do was say something comforting to him but she wasn’t sure if she had the words, or if they would be appreciated. “Forgive me,” he seemed to snap out of whatever daze he had been in, “I lost myself for a moment.”

“That is quite understandable your Grace,” she said quietly before taking a sip of her wine, “I imagine you must find it difficult to get a moment alone and here I am spoiling it for you.” She smiled again for him, or at least she tried to and his own lips tugged up wryly before he took a drink from his own cup. “You’re not spoiling anything,” he told her when he lowered it again. His words hung heavily between them and Roslin swallowed hard. She knew damn well that it wasn’t true, he didn’t want her here. Not really. He was stuck with her though. They were stuck with one another. At least they would be come tomorrow.

“My brother used to refuse to open a book up at all,” she offered into the silence after a minute, trying to dispel the heavy awkwardness between them. “Olyvar?” he questioned her with a slight smile and she nodded her head, encouraged by his reaction. “The Maester would complain every week to my father,” she told him and the King’s smile widened slightly more.

“My sister Arya was the same,” he said, “her Septa would only have to turn her back for a moment and she would be away from her. She would be found anywhere she ought not to be. Up in the broken tower pretending to spar with a stick, making mud pies in the gardens or trying to convince one of the men in the tiltyard to give her a go with the bow and arrow.”

“She sounds like quite the rebel,” Roslin commented with a small smile and the King chuckled slightly, smiling properly now, the action lighting up his bright, blue eyes. He looked so much younger when he smiled, and far more approachable. She decided against telling him that though as he fixed his eyes back on her in an almost searching manner. “Are you close to your own siblings?” he asked after a moment.

“There are so many of us,” she told him, “it is hard when we differ so much in age. Many of them are grown up and married with families of their own. Some have left the Twins and others I have only met on a few occasions. Of my true siblings I suppose I am closest to Olyvar, he and I have only a few years between us and I suppose we have always been the best of friends. Aside from him there is my niece Marianne, but truth be told your Grace, I mainly keep to my own company.”

“You must be pleased to see Olyvar again,” the King commented in response and Roslin nodded her head before taking another drink of wine. When she lowered the cup again she met his eyes and she swallowed hard as he held her gaze, hoping that there wasn’t a blush rising up on her cheeks. In the end he broke the contact and she moved her own eyes to the book in her lap, finally seeing that it was a book about the history of steel forging in the Riverlands. She raised her brows slightly before she looked back up, seeing a hint of amusement in the King’s eyes.

“I’m guessing you didn’t mean to pick that up,” he said, his eyes flickering to the book and she smiled widely, an almost laugh escaping her. “No I did not your Grace,” she agreed with him, catching his eye again, “but perhaps forcing myself to read something so dull will send me to sleep.” He laughed himself at that, a proper laugh that sounded warm and friendly. It made Roslin feel rather triumphant and she was pleased now that she had come to the library and accidentally stumbled across him. Perhaps such a meeting was what they had needed to break the tension between them. “Perhaps you’re right my lady,” he said when he had finished laughing, his eyes still shining with mirth.

“I should let you go to bed,” he said after a long minute, his expression serious again as his eyes found hers once more. “There is a long day ahead of us tomorrow,” she agreed softly and he nodded his head slowly, his gaze flickering almost uneasily from her own so she averted her own eyes. Roslin stood, moving back to the bookshelves and sliding the book back where she had found it before she turned to leave, seeing the King watching her again. “Will you not choose another?” he asked her and she shook her head slowly as she moved towards the door. “I think I’m ready to sleep now,” she told him, “goodnight your Grace.”

“Goodnight, my lady,” he returned and she managed a small smile for him before she slipped out of the door again.  

* * *

Robb drained the last of his wine when the door closed quietly behind Roslin, exhaling deeply as he set his empty cup down on the table in front of him. At first he had been irritated when she had slipped into the library, not because it was her particularly, just because someone had interrupted his alone time. Roslin had been right when she had said that he must not get a lot of it. He had barely had time to think over the last days which, if he was honest with himself, was somewhat of a blessing. He had organised meeting after meeting to plan strategies and battle plans with his remaining lords, determined to keep his mind from his upcoming nuptials. When he woke in the morning he would fill his head with battle plans. He would speak about them all day and dream about them all night. At least he would when he was not dreaming of Jeyne.

He leant forward in his chair and poured himself another large measure of wine before leaning back against the cushions and taking a long drink from it. Was this what it had come to? Drinking alone the night before his wedding because he was dreading standing up there in front of the Septon and pledging his life to a woman who meant nothing to him? He felt a stab of guilt hit him then. Likely he meant nothing to Roslin either but at least she was trying to make an effort. Over the last few days she had tried to capture his attentions but he had rebuffed her at every turn. He felt even guiltier as he thought about the impromptu conversation they had just enjoyed. At least, he had enjoyed it. Perhaps more than he had thought that he would. She was a sweet and pleasant girl just as his mother had promised him she would be.

It didn’t help though. Her tiny frame sat there opposite him with her big, dark, innocent eyes meeting his had not helped one bit. Those eyes just made him feel ashamed of himself. For betraying the unspoken bond of their betrothal and for still craving Jeyne despite the beauty and graciousness of his future wife. Roslin Frey deserved better than him. Robb could admit that easily. He took another long sip of wine before placing the cup on the table and leaning forward, holding his head in his hands as he tried to rid himself of memories of Jeyne. All he could think about was her. Her eyes. Her smile. The way she would bite down on her bottom lip. The way she would gasp out his name. The way she would tell him she loved him. He pressed down harder against his temples and tried to conjure up Roslin’s image in her place.

It was Roslin he would be married to. Roslin who would share his bed tomorrow night. He tried not to feel repulsed at the thought. It was not the thought of her that repulsed him, it was knowing that despite being in love with another woman he would be able to consummate his marriage all too easily. He did desire Roslin. He imagined any man would desire her. He just didn’t _love_ her. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to love her when he had given his heart so completely to another. If only he had more time to get to know Roslin. So many what ifs. He sighed heavily and drained his cup again before standing up and going to the door. Suddenly the library, which had seemed so peaceful before, had become overwhelmingly stuffy. He needed to get out. Just for a moment. He needed to get out and breathe in the cool night air. He needed to calm down and collect his thoughts now because he would run out of time in the morning.

Down the hallways of Riverrun he went, heading towards the doors that led out onto the terrace that overlooked the river. The sound of the rushing water would no doubt drown out the nagging voices in his head for a time. What he wouldn’t give to drown them out completely. It felt like half of his mind was screaming at him to call off his wedding to Roslin and ride after Jeyne at once. The other half was telling him not to be so damn stupid, telling him he was lucky to have been gifted with such an agreeable arrangement. Seven thousand men and a beautiful wife? What did he really have to complain about?

Robb pushed open the doors when he reached them, closing them carefully behind him before he took the few steps onto the terrace, shivering slightly in the night air. The sound of the roaring water engulfed him as he walked towards the railings, placing his hands on them and leaning against them, his eyes staring out into the near blackness. There were few stars out tonight, only a sprinkling seen through the wisps of cloud that were flickering like smoke across the black sky. It was still and dark now but he knew well enough that in mere hours the sun would rise again. When it did he would be married, as the sun reached its highest in the sky. All eyes would be on him and Roslin. Gods he hoped he would be able to play his part convincingly.

Everyone around him knew that he had had a lover in Jeyne, but he knew that not one of them would dare speak a word of it. He hadn’t had to tell them. They just knew. Things would be awkward and difficult enough between him and Roslin, the last thing he needed was for her to find out that mere days before taking her innocence he had been abed with another. Gods. What had he done? Being with Jeyne had seemed so simple and so right until now. Now it all seemed so complicated and messy, and it hurt. Gods it hurt. Physically. Emotionally. He ached for her. Longing to see her just one more time before he was pledged to another for the rest of his days. Once more. Was that too much to ask?

“Robb?”

He just about heard the soft, questioning voice over the rush of the river and for one shining moment he thought that the Gods had granted him his wish. When he turned though it was his mother’s eyes he met, not those of the woman he craved. “What are you doing out here mother? You’ll freeze,” he said, frowning slightly at her. She merely smiled rather knowingly at him before she crossed the terrace and came to stand next to him, her own hands coming to rest on the railings. “I thought you would be in bed by now, you have a big day ahead of you tomorrow,” she said.

“Do you have to remind me?” he asked her with a raised brow and she smiled at him sympathetically. Gods he wished she wouldn’t. He was already almost drowning in his own self-pity without his mother adding her own sympathy to the pool. She moved her hand to lay atop his then and he felt somewhat comforted by the gesture. He needed her to tell him everything would be alright now. He needed her to look him in the eye and tell him that he was doing the right thing. When he turned his head to the side he saw that she was already looking at him. “Tell me I’m right…tell me that marrying her is the right thing and that one day I can be happy with her,” he said desperately.

“Marrying Roslin Frey is the right thing,” she told him, her eyes not wavering from his for even a flicker of a second. “You are standing by your promise, proving to your lords and your people that you are a king who keeps his word. She is a lovely young woman and she will make you a wonderful wife if you just give her a chance Robb. You will, won’t you? You will try and give her a chance?”

“I saw her just before,” he told her, “I was in the library and she came in…it was…” he struggled with to find the right word, his brow creasing as he looked out over the river again as though it would give him some inspiration. “Nice,” he finally said, his brow furrowing even more. Nice didn’t seem like the right word but it had been said now and he could not take it back. His mother’s hand clenched around his own and he turned back to her, seeing the glint of pride in her eyes. “That’s good Robb,” she praised him, though he scarce felt he deserved it, “all you need is time to get to know one another, and come tomorrow you will have all the time in the world.”

“Part of me still wishes this wasn’t happening,” he confessed to her, “a _big_ part mother. I don’t know how I’m supposed to be anything like a good husband to her when I can barely stop thinking about another woman. I have to take Roslin to my bed tomorrow night when not three days ago I was sharing it with Jeyne. How can I do that? How did I become this man mother? This was never the man I was supposed to be…you and father taught me better than this…I know you did…”

“You are doing the right thing,” she told him firmly, “and I know it’s hard, and I know you won’t just forget about Jeyne over-night. But it’s over between you Robb, you can’t look back now, you’ve come too far for that. Roslin is your future, and it may take you a little time to get used to that but you _will_ Robb, I promise you.”

“How can you be so sure?” he asked her so quietly he would have been astounded if she had even heard him. She was silent for a long moment and he assumed she hadn’t. “You know I was promised to your uncle Brandon,” she began after a long moment and he nodded. “When he came here to Riverrun I was besotted at once,” she smiled slightly wistfully, “I ignored what all the whisperers said about how he would take countless mistresses and break my heart. I ignored them all because when he looked at me my heart used to skip. I used to count every minute until the feasting would be over and the dancing would start, knowing that his hands would be on my waist, or entwined with my own. He was everything I could have dreamed of…and then he was gone. Just like that. Just weeks before we should have been wed and I got your father in his place. I never thought I would _want_ him, let alone love him, but I did Robb…in time…I truly did.”

“Are you saying that one day Jeyne will be nothing more than a memory?” he asked her almost hopefully and she grasped his hand tightly in her own and met his eyes unflinchingly. “I can’t promise you that Robb,” she told him, “but I can promise you that you will find happiness if you just give yourself a chance to. Please try Robb…for your own sake as much as Roslin’s. Please try.”


	9. IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers for the kudos guys, here's the wedding chapter.

* * *

“Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am his, and he is mine, from this day, until the end of my days,” Roslin took a deep breath as she looked in the mirror having recited the vows she would make before the Gods for what felt like the thousandth time. Her stomach was churning as she smoothed her hands over the ivory silks she had been swathed in. She glanced towards the window and saw how high the sun had risen. Soon. It would happen so very soon. It could well be that the King was already in the Sept. She took another deep breath and turned back to the mirror. The front of her hair had been scraped and braided back so that her light waves fell behind her shoulders and down to her waist. The attendants at Riverrun had spent forever brushing and braiding her hair and now it seemed to almost shimmer in the bright sunlight that was streaming through the window.

Roslin scrutinized her face, hoping that she looked serene and happy as a bride ought to. At least that’s what the stories said. In reality she had only even seen apprehension and outright fear on the faces of all the brides she had witnessed being wed. She wasn’t sure if she felt fear exactly, but she was certainly apprehensive. Her talk with the King the night before had eased her worries slightly though and she was more inclined to believe his mother’s words that he would never mistreat her. In fact, beneath his gruff and imposing stature he seemed like quite a gentle sort of man. She imagined that softness and kindness was saved for his family and she hoped that that would include her now. A heavy sigh left her. She was getting ahead of herself. One conversation was not enough to get the full measure of a man, she was deluding herself if she thought it was.

A knock came at the door then and Roslin swallowed hard, knowing that this was it. “Come in,” she called out, amazed that her voice came out evenly and with no hint of a shake. The door opened at her command and Olyvar strode in, a bright smile lighting up his face that at least made her feel a little bit more at ease. “Are you ready?” he asked her and she smiled slightly at him before turning back to the mirror for a moment. She looked ready. She felt almost ready. That would have to be enough she supposed, it would do no good to keep the King waiting. “Is he waiting for me?” she asked him.

“Do you need a moment?” Olyvar asked her knowingly, “he won’t mind waiting for you, Lady Stark was telling him when I left that brides are often late. Apparently it is somewhat of a tradition.” Roslin smiled again at that, more of her nerves melting away and she finally turned away from the mirror and crossed to the table in the corner where her maiden’s cloak was neatly folded. The cloak was made of silvery-grey silks and had blue lace trimming it. Along the bottom hem were stitched the two Twins over and over from end to end. It was a beautiful thing, a surprise parting gift from her father. _Remember where you’re from._

As if she could forget. She pulled the cloak around her shoulders and moved to tie it around her neck, her hands shaking now and making it almost impossible. “Let me help,” Olyvar said gently, moving to take the ties from her and tying them swiftly up before his hands came to her shoulders. “I know you’re nervous,” he said, meeting her eyes, “but he is a good man Roslin and I know he will be good to you…I don’t think I would be quite so at ease with handing you over to him if he wasn’t.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly and he smiled, moving his hands from her shoulders and pulling her into a tight embrace for a moment. When they pulled apart she sent a smile of her own to him, the action feeling rather forced. He squeezed her shoulder and she took a breath. “Ready?” he asked her again and this time she nodded her head determinedly. She didn’t know if she truly was ready, but she had to be.

* * *

Robb swallowed hard as he heard the doors to the Sept open. In the silence he could hear a few gasps and whispers, and above them the sound of footsteps on the stone floor. They were coming closer. She was coming closer. The moment they were bound together forever was coming ever closer. He swallowed hard as he turned his head slightly to see her mere feet away from him on the arm of her brother. She met his eyes and managed a tiny smile but he could sense her nerves, they seemed to practically mirror his own. Somehow he managed to hold his hand out to her when she reached his side and she seemed to hesitate before she placed her own small hand into his. It wasn’t lost on Robb that this was the first physical contact they had had and he almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Will you cloak this woman and bring her under your protection?” the Septon asked and Robb turned to face her, his hand squeezing hers lightly before he let it go so he could move to untie her maiden’s cloak. He couldn’t help but noticed her breathing intensify, feeling the quick warmth of it on his fingers as he loosened the silk threads. He slipped the cloak easily from her shoulders and folded it over his arm before he handed it back to Olyvar. There had been no time to make a proper cloak of Winterfell, but the seamstress had managed to make a cloak of grey silk that was trimmed with white fur. He took it from his mother and she gave him an encouraging smile before he turned to sweep it around Roslin. He tied the threads tightly before he stepped back slightly from her and took her hand in his again.

The Septon came forward and began wrapping a ribbon around their clasped hands and he could feel Roslin’s shaking within his own. At least he thought it was hers that was shaking. He put slightly more pressure on her, his own hand engulfing hers as he felt the warmth and softness of her skin beneath his own rough palm and fingers. “Look upon one another, and say the words,” the Septon instructed them and Robb imagined that she had swallowed just as hard as he had before they both opened their mouths to quietly recite their vows. It struck Robb just how simple they were. How very easy it was to give away one’s life to another person. Somehow he kept Roslin’s eyes as they recited their vows and her own didn’t waver away from his. Despite all his underlying fears and uncertainty there was something rather bonding and intense about the moment.

It was over quickly though as the Septon moved closer to them again to unwind the ribbon from their hands. Robb knew what came next. What everyone expected to come next. He couldn’t ignore it, people would talk if he didn’t at least seem interested in his new bride. Hesitantly he stepped closer to her, only now realising exactly how small she was. The top of her head barely came up level with his chest and she was likely half his width. Delicate. Almost breakable. He pushed that thought aside as she lifted her head up, his own leaning down at her action. An inch from her lips he could feel her breath and he held his own, pressing his lips chastely against hers for a moment before he pulled back from her and forced a smile. The Sept erupted into applause and cheers, and Robb met Roslin’s eyes, thinking that they may well be the two unhappiest people in the room.

* * *

The feast was sumptuous but Roslin could barely eat more than a few bites of each course that was set in front of them. At her side the King barely touched his own food, preferring instead to pour cup after cup of wine down his throat. She tried not to let it bother her, forcing her mind away from what was to come now that the final course had been cleared away. The musicians had struck up and several people were dancing together. They looked as though they were having a good time. In fact, everyone besides her and the King looked as though they were having a good time. Roslin allowed her eyes to go to the windows then and she saw that the sky was almost black now. She almost shuddered, somehow forcing her body to stay still before she decided to follow the King’s lead and drink some more wine.

When she set down her drained cup she was surprised that his hand came to clasp around her forearm, her head snapping to his. “I think it time to retire,” he told her and she swallowed hard, hoping that her expression was not mirroring the sudden fear and horror that had just engulfed her entire body. “Who will call for the -,” she started but he shook his head, his hand clenching slightly more tightly around her forearm. “There will be no ceremony,” he told her, “you are my queen…you will not be humiliated in such a way.”

“Thank you,” she whispered and he smiled faintly at her before he finally released the almost too tight grip he had on her arm. “If you want a moment you can go ahead,” he told her and she nodded faintly before her eyes flickered out over those congregated to celebrate their marriage. “I don’t know where your chambers are your Grace,” she said after a long moment of watching the dancers.

“Go up to your own chambers,” he told her quietly and she turned to look at him, knowing there was a confused frown creasing her brow. He seemed to smile slightly at her again when he took in her expression. “I thought it might be more comfortable for you,” he said, “to stay in a room you are more familiar with.”

“That is most thoughtful of you, your Grace,” she said, and she meant it. It was a small consideration but the fact that he had thought of it at all gave her the ability to be able to smile properly at him before she pushed her chair back slightly. “I think I shall retire now,” she told him, meeting his eyes fleetingly as he nodded at her words. “I will join you in a short while my queen,” he returned and she nodded her own head before she stood from her chair and picked up her skirts, making her way as quickly as she dared from the high table. She skirted around the edge of the hall, not wanting to walk through the middle of all the dancers and have them see her leaving. They would make a fuss of her exit, bowing and curtseying to her and murmuring formalities. She supposed she ought to get used to such things since she was now a queen.

That was something she could still not quite believe. Being a wife was one thing, but queen? She shook her head to clear it, there were more pressing things for her to worry about right now as she carefully climbed the stairs. The thought of the bedding terrified her. Knowing what was to come. Knowing that her husband, a man she had met all but three days ago, would see her bare and vulnerable. More so, that he would invade her body in the most intimate way she could imagine. Her hand was shaking when she reached out to open the door of her chamber and once inside she clenched both of them into fists and willed them to stop. It was her duty. She had to do it. There was no other choice in the matter. She belonged to him now and she was his to do with as he pleased.

She somehow managed to get her hands steady enough so she could unknot the cloak from around her neck and slide it from her shoulders, draping it over one of the chairs. Avoiding the full length mirror and the one on top of the vanity she began unhooking the little clasps of her bodice and loosening laces so her dress could come from her. When it too came from her shoulders she let it drop to the floor, stepping out of it and kicking her shoes from her feet before she bent down and picked up her discarded dress. She draped that over the same chair, resting her hands on top of them and taking several long, measured breaths. How long she stood like that she didn’t know, she only turned when she heard the door-knob turn, her stomach clenching tightly.

* * *

Roslin turned to face him when he entered her chambers and he allowed his eyes to linger on her for a moment, taking in the sight of her stood there in just a thin shift. He swallowed hard, trying to smile for her before he moved his hands to unlace his doublet, shrugging it from his shoulders and tossing it onto the sofa before he sank down onto it to remove his boots. She didn’t move while he worked and the silence of the room was almost crushing him. One look at her had told him that she was nervous and he promised himself as he set his boots aside, that he would do everything to relax her and make this at least bearable. It was the least he could do considering everything. He stood up from the sofa and walked slowly towards her, the apprehension in her eyes turning steadily to fear as he advanced on her.

Tentatively he reached his hand out to take a stray lock of her hair and twirl the softness between his fingers before he tucked it back behind her ear. She looked vaguely surprised at the gesture and he smiled slightly wryly. “You don’t need to be frightened of me,” he told her, “I’m not going to force you to do anything until you’re ready.” She looked faintly placated at that and he moved his hands to rub them lightly up and down her upper arms, feeling her flesh pimple beneath his touch. “Are you cold?” he whispered and she nodded her head almost shyly. “Get into bed,” he urged her softly and she seemed to take a deep, shuddering breath before she moved her own hands up to the straps of her shift. His hands came to still hers and she frowned slightly at his movement. “You can leave it on if you’d feel more comfortable,” he told her and she nodded her head.

Robb released his hold on her then and she took a few steps back from him, her eyes lingering apprehensively on him for a moment before she took his advice and walked around to the bed. He watched her pull back the blankets and furs, his hands coming to loosen his tunic as she slipped herself into the bed. After he pulled his tunic up and over his head he tossed it aside before walking to the other side of the bed and slipping in next to her. The tension between them was huge but Robb knew that he had to take the lead in this whether he liked it or not. Roslin was just an innocent young girl and he was the one who needed to guide her, to reassure her and prepare her for this. For him. He shifted closer and he felt her stiffen but not move away as he allowed his hand to come and rest on her waist.

“Try and relax,” he urged her, rubbing his thumb in circles across her hip as he shifted his body to within an inch of hers. Hesitantly he bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, hearing her let out a breath as he did so. “Tell me what I can do,” he said softly, pulling away to meet her eyes. “Just do it,” she whispered to him and he sighed heavily before he nodded his head and shifted his body again so he loomed above her. His hand dropped down from her waist to her hip and began bunching up the silk of her shift until her bare thighs were exposed to him. He looked up to her eyes then and she nodded slightly, her legs coming apart with only minor coaxing from him and he nestled himself between them. Robb carefully lowered his body down against hers, wary of crushing her tiny frame with his weight and her hands came tentatively to rest on his shoulders. He nodded, as though to give her permission to touch him, his own hand seeking out her thigh as the other braced his weight above her.

Her body tensed but he allowed his hand to travel up her thigh, hesitating slightly before he slipped it around so he could cup between her legs. She seemed to tense even more but he knew he had to at least try and get her body ready to accommodate him. He allowed his fingers to move against her, his thumb seeking out that special little bud and pressing lightly against it before circling slowly. Roslin seemed to squirm beneath him, her fingernails pinching little crescents into his shoulders and he knew that she was responding now through her fear. A tiny gasp left her as he continued circling and he could feel the beginning of her arousal against his fingers, the warmth of it swelling his own desire. He let his fingers glide more firmly against her and she squirmed again as he moved his eyes back to hers. There was surprise most evident, but something else. Something that looked like want.

He allowed his thumb to press down more firmly on seeing that and her next gasp was accompanied by a tiny noise of what he hoped was pleasure. Encouraged by her back arching slightly, he allowed one of his fingers to slip inside her, feeling her muscles tense around him as he did so. “It’s alright,” he murmured, circling her bud again as he slowly moved his finger in and out of her. Slowly she relaxed again and he continued his action until he managed to coax a tiny murmur of pleasure from her. Her breathing was far more ragged now as he continued on and her arousal was soaking his hand. Now was the time, now when she was relaxed and ready for him. He allowed his finger to slip from her, his hand coming instead to release his hardness from his breeches. When he was free he moved his hand back between her legs and let his thumb resume circling her bud as he positioned his length at her entrance. “Draw your knees up,” he told her softly and she obeyed him after a moment.

He took himself into his hand, guiding his length into her and pushing down so he filled her completely, a sharp gasp and whimper of pain leaving her lips as he did so. Gods she felt so good around him, and he was ashamed of himself for even thinking that when she was clearly in discomfort. He rocked his hips slightly and another little noise left her lips that he knew wasn’t pleasure. One of her hands came from his shoulder and down his arm, seeking out the hand he had clenched around her hip. He moved his own as hers came closer, lacing her fingers with his and moving their entwined hands to rest at the side of her head. Her fingernails dug into the back of his hand as he kept slowly rocking his hips and he moved his lips to kiss the back of her own. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against her skin, “I’m so, so sorry…”

She merely squeezed his hand in response and he continued on with his slow thrusts, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand every now and again. Her other hand was still clamped around his shoulder but her nails had ceased digging into him and he hoped that that was a positive sign. Hoped that her pain had passed. He moved his lips from the back of her hand and buried his head in the crook of her neck, feeling her breathing ragged against his ear as he groaned out against her soft skin. Gods she felt so good, so very good. He pushed the guilt over her pain and the guilt over Jeyne away and focused on her warm breath in his ear and her tight warmth surrounding him, another involuntary moan leaving his mouth and stifled in the skin of her neck. His pace was quickening now despite himself and a sharp cry left her mouth. He couldn’t be sure if it was pleasure or pain. Perhaps somewhere in between. Either way he was afraid to look up and see her face, scared of what her expression might be.

Robb could feel his end coming, she felt so good he and he was ashamed of how quickly it would all be over, knowing he wouldn’t be bringing her ultimate pleasure. His hand clamped tightly around her own as he groaned out his release, spilling deep inside her and collapsing down against her, breathing hard against her neck. Roslin’s own breath was sharp in his ear and he realised that his weight was likely crushing her tiny frame. “I’m sorry,” he breathed out once more, releasing her hand and pushing his own palms against the bed to lift himself away from her. His length slipped from her and he saw the slight grimace of pain cross her features, the guilt gnawing away at him again. This wasn’t the first time she had deserved. “Are you alright?” he asked her and she nodded her head slowly, her hands coming to the hem of her shift and pulling it down.

When it settled about her he saw the few tiny spots of bright red blood soaking through the thin silk and he swallowed hard before moving his eyes back to her face. He could see no trace of any tears but he knew he had hurt her, probably far more than he had expected to do. Towards the end he had just lost control, forgetting all about being slow and careful with her. He regretted it now but he was too craven to open his mouth and explain it to her. If he started spilling his innermost feelings to her now then likely he would never stop and by the end she would likely despise him. He smiled faintly for her and she blinked her big, dark eyes at him a few times before she returned the gesture shyly.

It took him another moment to realise that he was still propped above her, his body just looming there mere inches from hers. Likely that was not helping her relax and so he made to shift away from her, rolling to one side. He was about to roll onto his back when her hand came to clench around the forearm of the arm he had trailing across her waist. At her action he stayed still on his side, barely an inch between them as the soft pad of her thumb began rubbing circles into the muscles of his forearm. He allowed his body to relax, laying his head down against the pillow and watching her face as her features seemed to calm. Somehow her action was soothing him as it seemed to be soothing her and so he made no move to tug his arm from her grip. If she wanted it there then there it would stay if it brought her some kind of comfort. The Gods know it was the least he could offer her.

 


	10. X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the kudos guys!  
> And thank you to Marsh for the comment you left, it was lovely, hope you enjoy the new chapter!  
> :)

* * *

_He broke the kiss, their breathing ragged against one another’s lips as he rubbed his hand up and down her bare thigh. “Are you sure?” he whispered against her. “If you want me to stop -,” he didn’t get any more words out, her fingers threading through the hair at the base of his neck and pulling his lips back down to hers again. It was so easy to lose himself in her soft kiss, pressing his body even more firmly between her legs and encouraging her thighs higher on his waist. As she moved them up he could feel how warm and wet she was for him, knowing that meant she desired him. And Gods he was glad because he desired her. Right now at this moment he desired nothing more in the world than to be as one with her. To give her his honour, the only thing left that he felt he had any control over. “Do you want this?” he pulled away to meet her eyes and he could see the want shining in her dark pools. “I want you,” she whispered, “don’t stop Robb…”_

Robb woke with a jolt, his face buried in soft, sweet smelling pillows. His arm resting against something warm. He murmured unintelligibly before he raised his head up from the pillow, his heart clenching painfully hard as he realised just who was sharing his bed. Somehow he managed to suppress a groan before he gently prised his arm away from her waist. Roslin stirred slightly in her sleep but thankfully didn’t wake. He didn’t think he had the strength to look her in the eye yet. The nice, gentlemanly thing to do would be do lay back down against the pillows and wait for her to wake up. Then he could make sure she was alright and at least seem like a husband who cared. He didn’t do that though. Instead he inched away from her, sliding out of bed and stretching himself awake before padding quietly to the adjoining washroom so he could clean himself up.

He tried not to think of the night before as he splashed cold water on his face. He tried not to think about the woman sleeping in bed. His _wife._ Somehow he repressed a shudder, trying to bury the fact that he had lost himself for a while the night before. He had lost himself in her warmth and for a few moments it had felt so good. So very good. In the cold light of day though he just felt like a bastard. He hadn’t even kissed her. How could he justify sharing her bed when he couldn’t even bring himself to press his lips against hers? How could he use her just for what was between her thighs? It was wrong. It was ever so wrong. He turned away from the basin and rubbed a towel firmly against his face to dry himself before he moved back towards the bedchamber.

Roslin was still sleeping. She looked peaceful and content and he tried to take some form of comfort from that. He knew he had hurt her the night before, knew he could have been more gentle with her but she had sought out his comfort afterwards so surely she couldn’t despise him that much. He repressed a snort. If she didn’t despise him now then she soon would when she realised she had married a man who was likely incapable of ever looking her in the eye again, let alone loving her. She stirred again and he moved quickly to redress himself, pulling his tunic up over his head before swiftly pulling on his boots. He grabbed his doublet from where he had left it slung over the back of the sofa and went to the door as quickly as he could before she could wake up.

* * *

Roslin blinked awake, her hands coming up to her face so she could rub the sleep from her eyes, her back arching up as she stretched her body awake. She opened her eyes properly then and turned her head to the side, seeing that she was in the bed alone. For a moment she wondered if she had dreamt the awkward humiliation of the night before but then she felt the ache between her thighs. Pushing back the blankets she could see the blood on her pure white shift and she swallowed hard, moving her eyes away from the droplets and to the empty space beside her. She remembered falling asleep with the King at her side. She remembered how he had tried to be gentle and put her at ease. She remembered how his hand had cupped between her legs, the way he had moved his fingers against her to make her stomach twist in knots.

Somewhere along the line, after the initial pain and once she had grown used to the throbbing ache that would come each time he thrust himself into her, she had found herself almost feeling pleasure. At one point she had barely been able to supress a moan of desire as her husband had been joined as one with her. It had been short lived though, just as he had begun to make her feel something other than uncomfortable he had reached his own peak. She could still feel the stickiness of his end between her thighs, no doubt mingled with her maiden’s blood. The feeling made her feel ever so slightly nauseous and so she gingerly got out of bed and walked rather stiffly towards the washroom. As she gently cleansed herself she wondered where the King might be. Surely he would have woken her if it were time to leave?

For a fleeting moment she imagined him riding off with his army and leaving her behind. The thought made her feel oddly empty and she pushed it aside, pulling her spoiled shift up over her head and dropping it to the floor. The maids could deal with it, no doubt they would revel in finding the blood on it and gossip between themselves, speculating about the wedding night. It had not been particularly special nor overwhelming to Roslin but it had been nowhere near as bad as she had prepared herself for. The King had been gentle enough with her, and he had seemed genuinely sorry that he had to bring her pain. That, she felt, had to be a good sign of sorts. At least she knew he wasn’t cruel, that he didn’t enjoy hurting her. She wished she could attribute more to him but the truth was that she barely knew a thing about him save the few things he had spoken to her about and whatever she had heard from others.

He was her _husband_ and yet she still didn’t feel comfortable referring to him by his name, not that he had asked her to. Even in her mind he was _the King._ She wondered if he would ever be _Robb_ to her, if she would ever refer to him as anything other than _your Grace._ In her mind she could never imagine ever being anything other than formal with him, which was utterly ridiculous considering they were married and he had taken her innocence from her. She had shared herself with him in the most intimate way but she didn’t feel any closer to him. That nasty, nagging voice at the back of her mind was taunting her again but she ignored it, walking purposely back into the bedchamber so she could get herself dressed and presentable.

_Time._ She just needed time to get to know the King better, to allow him to know her better. Time. That’s what she told herself over and over as she clad her body in a new shift before pulling on one of her nicer dresses. It was a beautiful deep green and the only silks she owned, besides the wedding dress that she would never wear again. The seamstress at the Twins had always told her that green went well with her complexion and her eyes. Bright colours only served to wash her out and make her look ill. She stuck to deep shades instead, the seamstress telling her that they brought out the luminance of her skin. In truth Roslin had no idea what that meant but she could only trust that the kindly woman knew what she was talking about. Hopefully she would look queenly enough, the last thing she wanted was to let the King down on her first official day as his wife.

Not that they would be doing much beside riding today, at least that’s what she imagined they would be doing. She knew they would set off today, towards Oxcross where the rest of his men were convening. What would happen then she didn’t know, but she imagined it would involve battles and loss and death. As if enough of that hadn’t occurred already. She was in the middle of it now though, not safe and sound behind the Twins but marching full on towards it at the side of a man who many people wanted to see the end of. The King had not seen fit to tell her any of his plans or strategies, she could only hope that they would prove fruitful. One thing she did know for sure was that there had to be a winner in this twisted game, the losers would face nothing but death. She could only hope that she and her husband ended up on the right side.

* * *

Robb had managed to avoid Roslin, to his shame, until the time came for them to depart from Riverrun. The armies were ready and waiting just outside the gates and Robb and his remaining lords were convened in the courtyard, the last of the horses being saddle up for them. He watched as the banner bearer hauled himself up onto his own mount, Olyvar handing him up the sigil before he moved away. Robb’s eyes were caught by movement at the doors and he saw his wife walking uncertainly down the steps into the courtyard. He glanced around and saw his mother in conversation with Maege Mormont and he knew that he would have to approach Roslin himself. Somehow bringing what he hoped was a smile to his face, he began walking to close the gap between them and she looked more confident as they drew closer to one another.

“My queen,” he greeted her, reaching for her hand which she gave without hesitation. For formalities sake he pressed a kiss to the back of it before he let go and offered her his arm. She took it at once and he led her towards where the horses were ready and saddled for them. “I thought you might like to ride with my mother,” he said as they approached the mounts, “myself and the lords will likely be speaking of nothing but war and I would hate for you to be bored.”

“Thank you your Grace,” she smiled shyly up at him, “that is most thoughtful of you.” He brought a smile to his own face in response, hoping it would suffice. She seemed happy enough so likely she had thought his suggestion genuine. Truly he just wanted her to ride with his mother so he wouldn’t have to be in her presence. Being around her just seemed to make him feel ashamed of himself, especially when she smiled. She looked so childlike and innocent when she smiled. She looked as though there was no trouble in the world when she smiled. It was a truly beautiful thing, her smile, and Robb knew that he did not deserve to have it directed at him. Best she save her smiles for his mother. For anyone. Anyone who wasn’t him, because every time she smiled at him she only served to make him hate himself a little bit more.

“Let me help you,” he said, gesturing towards her horse and she walked towards it obediently with him following on behind her. She came to a halt at the side of the mount and patted the mare gently on the neck before taking hold of the reins. Robb placed his hands on her waist then and lifted her easily. She barely weighed a thing as he set her up on the horse. “Thank you your Grace,” she said with another small smile when she was settled in the saddle and he forced a smile of his own for her. “It will not be long before we set off,” he told her before he inclined his head to her and walked away before she could even think about smiling at him.

“Saddle up!” he called to those remaining in the courtyard and all those who were not already mounted moved to haul themselves up onto their own horses. When Robb was saddled in his own he chanced a look back and saw his mother was at Roslin’s side. The pair seemed to be indulging in light conversation and he simultaneously longed to know what they were saying and dreaded to know what they were speaking of. He sighed heavily and turned to face the front again; “march on!” he ordered and the banner bearer squeezed his heels into his horse and began trotting out of the yard. Everyone followed after him and Robb trained his eyes on the fluttering sigil of the direwolf as they rode under the gates and out to join the armies.

Grey Wind appeared, skirting around the edge of the men and coming to pad along beside Robb’s horse. His beast was still unwaveringly loyal to him despite his recent cold behaviour. Deep down Robb knew that he was being irrational, knew that Summer and Shaggy Dog had likely tried their best to save Bran and Rickon. It was nice having something to blame though, especially since it would be a long time before he had the chance to wrap his hands around Theon’s neck. He glanced down at Grey Wind again and his wolf looked up to meet his eyes. Loyalty shone from him and Robb sighed heavily before he mustered a small smile for his faithful beast. It seemed to be enough for Grey Wind, a happy yap leaving him as they continued on, a new spring in the step of his wolf.

* * *

Roslin was unsure what to do with herself when they stopped for the night to make camp. The wind was howling around them and she drew her travelling cloak further about her and darted her eyes around, looking for anywhere she could shelter. The men seemed to be struggling with the canvases but she could see the shape of the tents beginning to form. She looked around for any sign of the King but she couldn’t see him anywhere. Lady Stark had excused herself when they had arrived, saying that she would not be long. Her good-mother still hadn’t returned though and Roslin felt utterly ridiculous standing there in the heart of camp doing nothing as everyone worked around her. “My queen?” a voice came from behind her and she turned and managed a smile for the man who had addressed her.

“Your tent is ready my queen, would you like me to escort you?” the man asked, gesturing to a large looking tent near the centre of the camp. “Yes, thank you,” she managed another smile before following on after the man. Again she looked around for the King, wondering whether he would be sharing the space with her or whether he would have a tent of his own. She supposed he might like his privacy, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t visit her bed. The dull ache between her thighs seemed to throb a little more painfully as she thought of that. It was her duty though. If her husband came to her bed then she would be gracious and receive him willingly. Roslin was no fool, she knew that the King needed an heir more than anything and there was only one way that would happen. “Thank you,” she said to the man who had led her to her tent as he held up the flap for her so she could walk right in.

When she was inside he dropped it down again and she surveyed her new sleeping quarters. There was a comfortable looking make-shift bed and a table and chairs. Her trunk of belongings had been placed at the foot of the bed and there were three oil lamps burning low on the table. Outside she could hear the men shouting about lighting a fire and she wondered how they would manage such a thing in this weather. She shuddered slightly, wondering if she ought to stay up a little while in case the King came. She was cold though and the bed looked so inviting with all its blankets and furs. If the King came then he came, if she was already in bed then surely that would make it easier for him? She crossed to her trunk and pulled out a nightdress, depositing it on the bed before she made to remove her clothes.

When she was bare she was shivering almost violently and she pulled the nightdress hurriedly over her head before she crossed to blow out the lamps. There was just enough dim light from the lamps of other tents that she could see her way to bed, scrambling into it and burying herself under all the blankets. It took a few minutes but eventually her shivers subsided and the warmth built up around her. She sighed heavily as she listened to the men outside, wondering again where her husband was. She had tried not to let it bother her, but on the journey she had had plenty of time to brood over the fact that he had barely been able to look her in the eye before they had departed Riverrun. It had crossed her mind that she might have done something to displease him on the wedding night but she could think of nothing, and he had reached his end.

It was hard to think any longer on it though as she shifted in bed to find a comfortable position. She felt so snug and warm and her eyelids were growing heavy. The King would wake her if he had need of her, she was certain about that. Surely he wouldn’t begrudge her some sleep. She sighed heavily as her eyelids fluttered closed, her thoughts drifting away from the King and just focusing on how deliciously warm and snug she was.

* * *

Catelyn stood over by the fire the men had finally managed to get going, her eyes drifting towards Roslin’s tent every few moments of their own accord. She had watched her new good-daughter being led to it by a guard, and mere moments later the lamps inside had been extinguished. Where Robb was she didn’t know, but she knew that the tent several feet opposite Roslin’s had been erected for him. Catelyn’s own tent was closer to his wife’s than his was. She knew that Robb would struggle with being married initially, but shoving his wife in a separate tent and insisting she ride away from him rather than at his side was not going to help matters. For one he needed an heir. Sleeping separately would not provide him with one of those unless they were blessed with a wedding night baby. For now she would let him carry on as he was, let him have a few days to try and get his head around his new situation.

Perhaps he would work it out himself and stop wallowing in his misery and regret over Jeyne and start realising that he had a very real, very sweet wife who he could not ignore no matter how hard he tried. Her son was not deliberately cruel, but Roslin didn’t know him well enough to realise that. If he kept this up then her own feelings would likely turn to resentment and that would do nothing to help the situation they had found themselves in. She spotted Robb crossing the camp then, seemingly deep in conversation with Lord Flint. They paused in the centre, still talking intensely to one another before Lord Flint bowed shortly and walked away towards his own tent. Catelyn eyed Robb as he stood still for a long moment and she somehow knew he was pondering over which tent he himself would enter. He shifted from foot to foot slightly and she silently willed him to walk towards where Roslin was residing.

She should have known he wouldn’t, but at least he had considered it. Catelyn consoled herself with that fact as he stamped towards his own tent. She stayed by the fire, pondering whether or not she should go and speak with him, trying to find words in her mind that were encouraging rather than confusing. The last thing she wanted to speak to her son about was what went on between a man and wife in the bedchamber and so she hesitated. She hesitated long enough for him to extinguish the lamps in his own tent and she sighed heavily. A few days. She would give him a few days to get his act together, she was determined that by the time they reached Oxcross that he was at least being friendly towards his wife. He would see Jeyne again there, and if he had not built up any foundation at all with Roslin then he would be tempted.

Robb had been adamant that he would be faithful in his marriage but Catelyn knew well enough that he loved Jeyne still. That would be temptation enough for him without happy or fond thoughts of Roslin to keep him away from her. Catelyn had to have faith that Jeyne’s own resolve would hold. She had always seemed to be the stronger in their illicit relationship, she had been the one to make him keep his promise in the first place. Without her resolve they would not be here now. Her son would likely be happier with that outcome but it could have cost him the war. Catelyn knew from bitter experience that war often came above personal happiness. Again, she thought of her own wedding. Ned had not been the man she had expected to marry, nor the man she wanted to marry. Things had come good for them in the end though, now she just had to hope that the same would hold true for Robb.

 


	11. XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers for the Kudos again you lovely people.
> 
> And thanks again to Marsh, hope you continue to enjoy! ;)
> 
> :)

* * *

There seemed to be some sort of commotion going on outside the canvas as Jeyne pinned the last of Alys’ hair up, her eyes flickering to the silhouettes of men on horseback riding into the centre of camp. “Now what do you suppose that is all about?” Alys asked with a slight frown, catching Jeyne’s eye in the mirror. Jeyne shrugged slightly as she slid the final pin into her dark tresses; “I have no idea my lady,” she said honestly and Alys raised her brows at her in the mirror before she swivelled round on her stool and smiled up at her. “How many times must I tell you to call me Alys? We are both ladies Jeyne, there is no need for us to be so formal,” Alys said.

“You’ve been so kind to me,” Jeyne said, “truly Alys, if you had not offered me this position then I do not know what I would have done. There is no way I could have gone home…I think I would rather have taken my chances in the wilds than go back there,” she shuddered slightly, remembering the look on her mother’s face when she had stood before her and confessed that she had refused Robb’s offer of marriage. For a moment she had thought her mother might actually strike her. It was her father’s words that still haunted her dreams though, that she could still not stomach despite having no regrets about leaving with Robb. _“If you leave with him any hope of salvation for you will be lost…you will be remembered as nothing more than a king’s whore. If you leave here then you are never to come back, I will not have such a disgrace in my presence.”_

“I am happy to have the company more than anything,” Alys’ smiling voice pulled her away from her memories and she forced a smile for her as she rose up from her vanity. Jeyne thanked her again anyway, truly she was grateful to be here. She knew that it had been Robb who had made the arrangement with his uncle but Alys didn’t have to be so welcoming. Most ladies would not suffer whores and Jeyne knew that that’s what she was in the eyes of so many people. Whispers and stares followed her around camp and some of the bolder men would shout propositions to her and shake their coin purses. She tried to ignore them but it hurt so much. She had been the lover of one man and yet she was tarnished forever. In the back of her mind she knew she should have expected it but it didn’t make them any easier to contend with.

Jeyne was about to ask Alys if she needed anything else when the flap of the tent was pushed aside to reveal Lord Tully. She turned away at once and began tidying the things on the vanity. She had no desire to see Lord Tully greet his wife with his usual kiss, no desire to see them smile into one another’s eyes. Even though she kept her eyes distracted her ears could still hear everything. “You look beautiful today my dear,” Lord Tully said lowly.

“Thank you my love,” Alys replied and Jeyne could hear the smile and the blush in her words; “is something happening out there? There seemed to be a lot of commotion.” There was silence for a long moment and somehow Jeyne knew that their eyes were now on her. Perhaps she ought to excuse herself? She didn’t want to though, she wanted to know what the commotion was about; somehow knowing it was to do with Robb. Even if it was bad news she needed to hear it and so she continued on with what she was doing and hoped that they would speak loudly enough for her to hear them.

“News from the King’s army,” Edmure said quietly and Jeyne strained her ears as he dropped his voice even lower; “they have left Riverrun…you know what that means…” he trailed off and Jeyne could imagine Alys nodding her head. Yes, she would know what that meant. They all knew what that meant. Robb had done it, he had married Roslin Frey and now he was coming this way with his wife and queen. Jeyne forced herself to keep on tidying as she had been doing. Forced away the ache in her heart. She had known it was coming, every day she expected to hear the news but now… Well now it was final. He belonged to another, completely, in a way he had never belonged to her. She sighed heavily and blinked her stinging eyes, willing herself not to cry. She had lost him. Lost him for good.

* * *

Roslin approached Lady Stark’s tent slowly, her eyes darting about the camp as she went, seeing that no one was paying her any particular mind. Her good-mother had invited her to have dinner with her but Roslin felt on edge, somehow knowing Lady Stark would want to talk about the King. She herself wanted to talk about the King but she had no idea how honest she would be able to be with his mother. Could she really tell her about how inadequate she felt as a wife? Could she confess that she was certain that her husband had no feelings for her whatsoever? Would it be right to mention that he had not come to her bed? Voice her concern over how she was worried she had done something wrong on the wedding night that had kept him from coming again?

She took a deep breath as she reached her good-mother’s tent before calling to her and waiting to be invited inside. Lady Stark’s kindly voice told her to come in almost at once and Roslin smoothed her skirts self-consciously before she did as she was bid. “My queen,” Lady Stark smiled at her as she entered, “would you care for some wine?”

“Thank you my lady, that would be most welcome,” Roslin returned her smile, “and please…would you call me Roslin? I still cannot get used to being addressed so formally.” Her good-mother smiled slightly wryly as she began to pour the wine, her eyes searching over Roslin and making her feel intensely uncomfortable. “I imagine there are a great many things you are getting used to,” Lady Stark said, “Roslin,” she added, handing her a cup full to the brim; “please call me Catelyn.”

“Thank you,” Roslin smiled again, taking a sip of her wine and feeling far more at ease as she was invited to take a seat. “I hope you don’t think I’m prying,” Catelyn began. _Here we go._ “But I can’t help but notice things…” she went on, raising her brows slightly towards Roslin and making her shift uncomfortably in her seat. “For instance, how you ride at my side rather than Robb’s, and how the two of you never seem to spend much quality time together,” Catelyn said gently and Roslin couldn’t help the unladylike snort that came from her.

“That is an understatement,” Roslin said, her voice coming far more bitterly than she had intended. She couldn’t stop herself though, now she had opened her mouth it seemed as though she couldn’t stop. “He places me atop my horse and helps me down, that is the only time he seems able to bear to touch me. The only words he speaks are ‘my queen’ and ‘I hope you are well rested’. And I say, ‘yes your Grace, thank you your Grace’,” Roslin cut off, taking a long drink from her wine before she continued on; “he does not trouble himself to come to my bed, nor eat meals with me…I don’t know what I have done so wrong. Am I really that displeasing to him?”

Her voice at the end was almost desperate as she met Catelyn’s eyes that were so much like the King’s that it just made everything feel so much worse. “I don’t think it’s you,” her good-mother said quietly after a long moment of silence; “Robb has much to contend with at the moment. He is with his lords late into the night…you know they are planning on taking Casterly Rock?” Roslin nodded at that and Catelyn smiled for her, the action looking rather forced. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean to come across as unfeeling…I’m sure when things settle down a little that he will spend more time with you.”

“Do you really think so?” Roslin asked her sceptically. She knew her husband was busy with his plans but was it really so hard to find a few minutes to speak with her? He had to eat, why could he not take his meals with her? He had to sleep… She decided against following that particular train of thought. As uncomfortable as the bedding had been Roslin knew well enough that the King would have to bed her again and again until she found herself with child. Kings needed heirs, everyone knew that. No one seemed to have informed her husband of it though. The people would blame her if she were not -soon with child, they would assume it her fault. She drained the last of her wine before she met her good-mother’s eyes again.

“I’m certain of it,” Catelyn said after a long moment of meeting her eyes; “Robb does not mean to be unfeeling. He is not a cruel man, it is not in his nature but…but after everything that has happened this past year he has had to become harder. Underneath it all he is still the same gentle man he always was, you just need to give it time…you will see the real him in the end.”

“I hope so Catelyn,” Roslin said meaningfully, placing her empty cup down on the table between them; “I really hope so.”

* * *

Catelyn was utterly furious with Robb after her conversation with Roslin. She should have known that his cold, unfeeling behaviour would have his wife blaming herself but that did not make it any easier to stomach. The poor girl was at a loss, blaming herself for his lack of interest and Catelyn had had to bite her tongue and make excuse after excuse for him until her good-daughter finally seemed placated. Now she was thoroughly wound up and Catelyn was more than ready to give her son a piece of her mind. Olyvar had told her that Robb had retired to his own tent to have his dinner and so she stamped towards it, seeing the lamps still on. She didn’t bother calling out to him, she merely wrenched the canvas flap aside and made her entrance.

Robb looked up in faint surprise but she soon saw his expression change to that of sheepishness mingled with guilt and she knew he had seen her own fury and she imagined he knew exactly what she was so angry about. She folded her arms and stared at him expectantly, his only response to shift uncomfortably in his chair. “I expect you know why I’m here,” Catelyn finally said, raising her eyebrows. Her son lifted his head to meet her eyes, a rather mournful expression on his face, and she had to remind herself she was annoyed with him as all she wanted to do was put her arms around him and promise him everything would be alright. “Robb she’s your wife,” she said heavily, “you can’t carry on as though she does not exist…aside from everything else it isn’t fair on her. She isn’t stupid you know, and she’s blaming herself. Do you know how hard it was for me to sit and bite my tongue while she agonised over whether she has done something wrong?!”

“What did you say to her?” Robb asked her after an intensely awkward moment of silence and Catelyn felt her frustration with him grow even higher. “Never mind what I said to her!” she snapped, “I shouldn’t have to say anything to her, I shouldn’t have to reassure her that you’re a good man, you should be showing her that all by yourself! _You_ need to spend time with her Robb and _you_ need to stop wallowing in self-pity because Roslin is no longer a nameless promise, she is a real, living woman and she is your _wife!_ Now pull yourself together and get to know her!”

Grey Wind whined pitifully from the corner of the tent where he was resting and Catelyn turned her glare on him; “don’t you start,” she directed towards the wolf, “one petulant child is quite enough thank you. Robb,” she began again, more gently this time, “you know I am only telling you all of this because I care about you and I can’t stand seeing you like this. I know you’re hurting over Jeyne but none of this is Roslin’s fault, I know you don’t mean to…but you’re punishing her for this situation and that isn’t fair. I’m not expecting you to fall in love with her overnight, but would it kill you to have a conversation with her?”

Robb sighed heavily and looked at her again, her eyes widening insistently at him and he finally got up to his feet. “What in the name of the Gods do I say to her?” he asked her in a slightly desperate manner and she couldn’t help but smile slightly. “Anything, just talk Robb…there are plenty of things you could speak about,” she said, reaching out and patting his cheek lightly, “she just needs a little attention from you, is that really so difficult?”

“No,” he sighed again, his eyes flickering towards the flap of his tent, any number of emotions flickering though the deep blue. Catelyn could tell he was torn, wavering on the brink of leaving to go and speak with his wife, but also teetering towards staying here in his tent and burying his head in the sand. What he needed was a push, and she would damn well give him one. “Robb Stark,” she said, quietly but firmly, “you are Lord of Winterfell and King in the North, you have marched from your home and won every battle you have fought. Summon up that courage I know you have and walk across this campsite and spend time with your wife. _Now._ ”

He finally nodded, hesitating again when his hand came to the canvas of the entrance. She could almost see him mentally steeling himself, his body tense for a long moment before he finally wrenched the material aside. Catelyn followed him out, keeping her eyes trained on him as he walked towards Roslin’s tent which was thankfully still glowing with lamps. She let out a long breath and silently prayed to the Gods that they would enjoy the conversation. If it was awkward and tense then she imagined she would have to work an awful lot harder to get Robb to try it again.

* * *

“My queen?” Robb said tentatively when he reached the entrance of her tent, hesitating just outside and wondering whether he should just walk right in. “Come in,” her soft voice replied after a few seconds and again he hesitated before pulling aside the flap and stamping inside. When she caught sight of him her eyes widened, the shock on her face concealed quickly but not quickly enough. Guilt stabbed him, his mother was right, he had been punishing Roslin. One look into her big, innocent eyes told him that much. “Your Grace,” she said in a vaguely stunned manner, her hands coming to the tie of her robe and tightening it slightly more around her. “I’m sorry for my attire…I was not expecting you I…” she tailed off, her eyes darting to the table, “wine?” she offered him and he managed to nod.

“Thank you,” he said before he swallowed hard, trying to get some moisture into his mouth, “and there is no need to apologise, this is your private space…you ought to be comfortable.” She smiled faintly at him, looking placated but still rather disbelieving as she took the few steps to the table and began to pour the wine. Robb hesitated for a moment before he came and pulled out one of the chairs, sitting himself down. He noticed her hands shaking slightly as she poured two cups and he felt awful all over again. When she placed a full cup in front of him he forced a smile for her and thanked her warmly. It was her turn to hesitate then as she picked up her own cup and took a few shaky sips from it before moving to take the seat opposite him.

“I’m sorry I haven’t spent much time with you,” he said into the heavy silence that seemed to have fallen upon them. Perhaps voicing the issue now would help ease the atmosphere? “There is no need to apologise your Grace, I know you must be very busy what with your plans to take Casterly Rock,” she said, a hint of a shake in her voice as her hand clenched slightly around her wine cup. “Yes,” he agreed with her, “but that is no excuse…you are my wife, I ought to have made more time for you.” Roslin looked rather surprised at his words but she smiled shyly for him as she tapped her fingers lightly against the side of her cup. “How are your plans coming for Casterly Rock?” she asked him.

“I would hate to bore you with such details,” he mustered a smile of his own for her which felt less forced than the last one. “You needn’t worry about that, I actually find the strategy and tactics of it all rather interesting,” she told him and he raised his brows. Now that he had not been expecting, and she seemed to realise it as a playful little smile came to adorn her lips. “Do you really?” he asked her with a raised brow and her smile widened. “You seem surprised,” her tone was almost teasing. “When I was younger I often spent more time with my brothers. They would spend hours in my father’s study, playing at warmongering with the pieces on the map, arguing over tactics until they were blue in the face. I was curious as to why they were so interested in such a thing and so I found books in the library about old battles and wars. Some go into much detail…as brutal and barbaric as it is, I suppose war is an art in its way…”

“We plan on invading Lannisport first,” Robb told her and she nodded her head slightly, “Casterly Rock will likely end in a siege and it will be ended more quickly if we cut off its main supplies from Lannisport. Furthermore, we can take those supplies for ourselves and sustain our own men. There is always the possibility that Tywin could come down from the Capitol and take us from behind with the Tyrells at his back…but we will be expecting that…” he smiled slightly and her own lips curved upwards.

“Your tactics seem to have worked perfectly so far,” she complimented him, “after all, you have not lost a battle yet…and you took the Crag.” Robb shifted slightly uncomfortably in his chair at her mention of the Crag, reaching for his wine and taking a few sips to compose himself before he replied to her. “Yes,” he forced a smile, “that is true enough, a foothold in the west…not the biggest seat we could have overrun but big enough to make the Lannisters take note. They ought to know by now that we are not to be underestimated.”

“You were injured there were you not?” Roslin asked him then, her big eyes fixed on his face before they flickered down to his chest where the scar from his wound ran from the top of his ribs, down his side and almost to his hip. Even though he was fully clothed he could almost feel her eyes on his bare skin and it made him feel rather strange. “Yes,” he finally said, “just a light graze really, but enough to have me bedbound for a few weeks…for a time it didn’t seem to want to stop bleeding.”

“But you are well healed now?” she raised a brow and he nodded. “But you still bear the scars,” she said softly, almost _regretfully?_ Was he imagining that in her voice? He looked up to meet her eyes and she blinked slowly at him. “Here,” she spoke before he could think of anything to say, outstretching her hand across the table and turning it so her palm was facing upwards. “Can you see it?” she asked him and he leaned forwards in his chair to better look at her hand. “Right here,” she said softly, moving her other hand to trace a finger down the very faint white line that was barely visible against her porcelain skin. “What happened?” he asked her curiously.

“I was nine,” she told him, “Olyvar had just turned eleven and was allowed to start working properly in the tiltyard. It annoyed me that I didn’t get to spend so much time with him anymore and so one day I went down there to try and make him come and play games with me. He was at the archery boards and so I went to him, likely I was just irritating him with my demands and he refused to come away from the tiltyard. I was annoyed with him and so I took one of the arrows from the bucket…a rather petty thing to do really,” she smiled slightly and Robb returned it, waiting for her to continue on with her story.

“Olyvar took the bait anyway, he was always rather easy to wind up. He tried to grab it back from me but I wouldn’t give in. He even threatened to tell father but I knew that he wouldn’t and I wouldn’t loosen my grip on the arrow no matter how hard he tried to grab it from me. In the end he gave in and said he would come and play with me. I loosened my grip then and he grabbed at the arrow again. He must have pulled so quickly that I had no time to let go, it sliced right through my palm…there was blood everywhere and Olyvar was beside himself,” she told him, “he tried to clean me up as best he could and we both knew that if our father found out then he would be in all manner of trouble so we decided to hide it and I promised that I would never tell anyone what had happened.”

“And did you?” Robb asked her, his eyes fixed on her as she smiled again, biting down on her lip for a moment before she went on. “It went bad after a week, Olyvar knew we would have to go to the Maester and that my father would find out. Once I was cleaned up he came to my rooms; that was the only time he has ever come to my rooms. Usually if he wanted one of us we would be summoned but he came to me and he asked me what had happened. That is the only time I have ever lied to my father…I told him I was playing in the tiltyard, that it was all my own doing and that I was sorry. I don’t think he believed me but Olyvar was never punished. I was abed for a week and Olyvar would bring me up stolen cakes from the kitchens every day…his way of saying sorry I suppose…”

She tailed off then and Robb smiled slightly, his eyes going back to her palm and seeking out the faint line again. Before he could stop himself he stretched out his index finger and traced the line gently, her fingertips curling slightly at his touch. “You can barely see it,” he commented, “I would not have known it was there had you not told me.”

“I know,” she agreed quietly, “at the time it looked awful and now…it is almost as though nothing ever happened. I suppose it just goes to show that given enough time any wound can heal. Scars will fade away to the point where you barely notice them anymore…” she trailed off and Robb looked up to meet her eyes, for a moment wondering if there was another meaning to her words. In the next second she blinked and he pushed away his sudden moment of unease, bringing a smile to his face for her before moving his hand back from hers and touching his fingers to his right temple. “My brother did this one,” he told her, “it’s not quite as impressive as yours but it damn well hurt at the time.”

“What happened?” she asked, a small smile playing about her lips as she leant forward in her seat to appraise the scar on his temple which was incredibly faint and usually half hidden by his hair. “We were down by the stream in the wolfswood, skimming stones across the water and trying to reach the other side. Jon got rather overenthusiastic and let go too soon. It was a bloody sharp little rock…I told my mother I slipped and fell. I’m not sure she believed me either,” a smile came to grace his own lips, “but she never questioned my word on the matter.”

“The things we do to protect the ones we love,” Roslin smiled back at him and he nodded his agreement before draining his cup of wine. When he lowered it again he saw her trying to stifle a yawn behind her hands and he raised his brows slightly at her. “I should go and leave you to rest,” he said and he could have sworn a slightly disappointed look crossed her face before it was quickly hidden behind a smile. “Yes…you need rest yourself your Grace,” she replied and he smiled easily for her as he rose out of his chair. She got up from her own and they seemed to hover awkwardly around one another before Robb finally plucked up the courage to move a step closer to her, bending his head and pressing a light kiss to her cheek.

When he pulled away she looked faintly surprised and he moved towards the flap of the tent after bestowing another smile on her. “Goodnight,” he said as he reached out his hand to pull the canvas aside. “Goodnight,” she replied softly and at her words he pulled the entrance open before hesitating slightly and looking back towards her. She was not looking at him as she tidied away their empty cups. “Roslin?” he drew her attention and she snapped her head towards him, evidently surprised that he had used her name. “Would you ride at my side tomorrow?” he asked her and she nodded her head slowly. “Of course I will your Grace,” she said with a wide smile that he couldn’t help but return. “Robb,” he said after a moment, “I would very much like it if you would call me Robb.”


	12. XII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, thanks to all who have left kudos, it is much appreciated and I hope you enjoy the new installment!  
> :)

* * *

“Can I ask you something?” Roslin said as she eyed Robb buttering up his bread and he paused in what he was doing for a moment. “Of course you can,” he met her eyes and allowed her a brief smile before turning his attention back to his breakfast. “How is it you’re managing to afford this war?” she asked him curiously and he looked back up to her, faint surprise registering in his blue eyes. Roslin bit her lip slightly, wondering if perhaps she had overstepped some kind of mark. “I mean,” she said quickly, “it cannot come cheaply…and with Winterfell…” she hesitated, trying to find a tactful word to describe what had happened there.

“Overrun by traitorous bastards?” Robb supplied, his tone rather hard as his eyes met hers and she had to try very hard not to flinch away from his steely gaze. “Yes,” Roslin said shyly and he sighed heavily, his features softening again as he looked at her for a long moment. “I’m sorry,” he apologised, “I know you’re only curious and that you meant no harm. Put simply the Lannisters are funding our war,” he told her and she raised her brows, seeing him smirk slightly. “I don’t understand…” she said slowly, her forehead creasing slightly in confusion.

“Lord Umber,” Robb stated, “when I took the Crag he moved further through the Westerlands and took over several of the gold mines. We can only assume the Lannisters think we have overrun them, flooded them and made them unusable to dent their own coffers. But then, where would be the sense in drowning all that gold?” he raised his own brows.

“Where indeed,” Roslin smiled at him, thinking that she might now know exactly how Robb and the North were funding their war effort. “The mines are still open, still being worked by the same people at the same rate…only now they have new overseers and the ore that is brought to the surface is being taken to new owners,” Robb told her.

“The same people?” she frowned, “They mine gold for you, knowing who you are?” she was utterly confused that people could betray their liege lord in such a way. Where was the loyalty? Robb seemed to know what she was thinking as he smiled wryly at her, swallowing down a few mouthfuls of food before he answered her question. “Do you think the smallfolk care who they are mining for as long as they are paid a wage that can keep them and their families fed and warm?” he asked her in return and she bit down on her lip and shook her head slightly.

“Tywin Lannister paid those men a pittance, I pay them better and so they are far happier to work in my name. It matters not to them who wins this war fought by high lords, what matters to them is that they survive the coming winter. They cannot hope to do that if they have no coin to buy supplies nor stock up on firewood. So long as they get paid, they do not care where the coin comes from, especially if their purses are a little heavier at the end of each moon,” Robb continued.

“And what if Tywin Lannister discovers this and offers them even more coin to begin mining for him again?” Roslin asked him, arching one of her own brows. He smiled widely in response, a light chuckle leaving his lips. “Do you really think a man like Tywin Lannister cares for the wellbeing of the smallfolk? They do not even come into his consideration, likely he thinks them all drowned along with the gold, and likely he mourned the loss of his ore more sorely than any life,” Robb said, shaking his head.

“But you care,” she said softly, “you care about the smallfolk.” It was a statement, not a question, and Robb raised his head from his plate again to contemplate her for a long moment. Roslin was dying to know what he was thinking as his eyes rested on her face for the longest time. “I am just one man,” he said eventually, “and my lords number less than fifty…we cannot win a war by ourselves. We rely on the smallfolk to follow us, to bear arms and fight for us. We rely on their wives and children to see that our farms and our lands are still worked in our absence. Without them, we could not march nor even hope to triumph. So yes, I care about them, as my father always taught me that I should.”

“You’re a good man,” Roslin told him, holding his gaze, “a good king.” He smiled slightly at her and she was dying to know what he was thinking. She was tempted to ask him but before she could his eyes dropped from hers, his attention moving to the last of his breakfast and the moment was lost. “What do you plan on doing today?” he asked her after a few minutes of silence which they spent eating. Roslin didn’t answer at once, pondering in her mind what she would do with herself. Robb had ordered that they rest for a day to keep up the strength of the men and the horses before they pushed on towards Oxcross. They were only three days ride away now and he felt as though they could afford a day of rest.

“I’m not sure,” she bit her lip, her eyes scanning their surroundings and looking for some inspiration. Olyvar had told her there was a small lake nearby and she wondered if Robb would give her permission to go so far from camp. “Olyvar mentioned a lake…” she trailed off, looking at her husband and gauging his reaction. “Yes,” he said, “just through that thicket of trees,” he gestured towards it, “if you’d like to go down there I will arrange a guard for you. Many of the men will likely be down there, hopefully they will maintain their modesty in front of their queen.”

Roslin blushed at that but Robb merely grinned at her and she couldn’t help but return his smile, her hand reaching out for her cup of wine. “Thank you,” she said, after she had taken a drink from it; “I think I might spend a little time down there since the weather is so fine.”

“Go right ahead,” Robb said, laying his knife and fork down against his now empty plate before he stood up from the table. “I will speak with Olyvar about a guard, go to him whenever you’re ready,” he continued, laying his hand on the back of her chair before he bent down to press his lips firmly to her cheek. “Have a nice time,” he said warmly when he pulled away and she smiled up at him, seeing his own features calm and relaxed. “Perhaps you could join me later?” she plucked up the courage to ask him and she was relieved when he smiled. “Perhaps I shall,” he said before he turned and walked away from her.

Roslin watched him go, seeing him beckon Olyvar to him as he walked through the heart of the camp. Robb had been far warmer with her for the past few days, always taking his meals with her and coming to share a drink and conversation before bed. He still didn’t stay with her at night, his affection merely shown through smiles and the occasional kiss on the cheek or forehead. Lady Stark had been right to tell her that he would be good to her. Robb was increasingly warm when they spent time together, and always gentle. Roslin still worried that he did not come to her bed but she pushed the worries aside, telling herself it would happen in time. For now she was more than content to bask in the newfound friendship that she and her husband appeared to have struck up.

* * *

Robb wandered down to the lake around mid-afternoon, his eyes scanning the shores for Roslin before he could help himself. The last days with her had been more than pleasant, he could now readily admit that he enjoyed her company. Going to spend time with her now was something he _liked_ to do rather that something that he _had_ to do out of duty. There was a duty he was neglecting but he pushed it to the back of his mind as he always did as he strode towards his wife. She was sat on a large flat-topped rock that was set in the shallows of the water. Her shoes appeared to have been discarded on the shore and her feet were dangling into the water as she bent over a book. For a moment he thought she was reading but as he drew closer he could see that she was in fact writing.

Roslin didn’t look up as he approached and so he discarded his own boots and paddled through the water so he was stood behind her. Still she didn’t move as he peered over her shoulder, his eyes widening when he saw the sketch she had drawn on the page of her book. It was the view over the lake and she had captured it beautifully. If she had any colours then he imagined it would be even more vivid and perfect. As it was it was all drawn in the charcoal that she was wielding between her fingers. He wondered how to draw her attention, not wanting to make her jump and risk spoiling her drawing. After a few minutes she moved her hand away from the parchment as though to contemplate her work and he seized his moment to alert her to his presence. “You have quite the talent,” he said softly and as he predicted she did jump, her head snapping round to look at him.

“How long have you been there?” she asked him as he moved again in the water so he was stood in front of the rock she was on, the cool freshness of it up over his knees now. “Just a few minutes, that’s truly beautiful Roslin, I had no idea you enjoyed drawing,” he said, seeing a blush rising up on her porcelain cheeks at his compliment. “I just do it sometimes,” she muttered, looking thoroughly embarrassed, although for the life of him he could not work out why. “It’s beautiful Roslin,” he told her sincerely and her lips twitched up into a smile; “perhaps I could try and get hold of some paints for you?”

“I would hate for you to go to any trouble, especially at such a time,” she said, her eyes widening, and he couldn’t help but smile at her again. “I think it only right to keep my wife happy,” he said without thinking and her smile widened, her gaze dropping from his own. He felt his own urge to blush then, his hands coming to self-consciously straighten up his doublet before he cleared his throat awkwardly. “You know…I think I might have a swim,” he finally said, seeing that several hundred of the men were already in the water. Roslin merely nodded her head to him, her blush fading now but still evident as he unbuttoned his doublet, shrugging out of it and tossing it towards the shore where he had left his boots. His tunic followed before he turned and waded further out into the water.

When he was up to his waist he took a deep breath before diving into the chilly depths. His head pounded but he pushed on through as his body numbed to the temperature, finally rising back up to the surface when his lungs were screaming at him. Robb swam several laps, keeping himself in line with the shore as he moved through the water. After a time he came to a stop, treading water and looking towards Roslin. She was still sat on her rock, her sketching book now laid at her side as she looked out towards him, worrying on her bottom lip as he swam closer to her. “Why don’t you join me?” he called to her and she shook her head, her eyes widening. Her reaction made him laugh and he swam ever closer. “Come now,” he said, kneeling in the shallows before her and placing his hands on her hips; “your husband commands it.”

“Wait -!” she started to protest but he had slid her from the rock in no time, pulling her into the water and tugging her deeper into the lake. She scrabbled her hands against him, her nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as she clung to him, gasping as he pulled her further into the depths. “Not so far Robb!” she practically squealed, her nails digging even more sharply into his shoulders. “It’s alright, I’ve got you,” he chuckled; “what’s the matter? Anyone would think you were afraid of the water.”

“I can’t swim!” she told him in a slightly panicked voice and he instinctively tightened his own hold around her waist. “Seriously?” he asked, tilting his head back so he could meet her eyes; “I thought everyone learned how to swim as a child…”

“Clearly no one ever told my father that,” Roslin said, the panic still lacing her voice as her eyes darted about her, as though she was worried he might plunge her into the depths at any point. “I’ve got you,” he told her again and her eyes met his, her nails finally unclenching from his skin although she kept her hands tightly on his shoulders and her legs wrapped around his waist as he bobbed them in the water. “How deep is it?” she finally asked him, her gaze eying the water suspiciously. “Not so deep that you wouldn’t be able to stand,” he assured her.

She moved her eyes back to his then and he held her gaze for a long moment before she carefully unwrapped her legs from around his waist. He could see it in her eyes when her feet touched the bed of the lake, the relief in them shining up at him as her hands slid from his shoulders and came to rest on his biceps instead as he kept his own on her waist. “That’s not so bad is it?” he asked her softly and she shook her head slowly. “When we go back to Winterfell I can teach you in the hot springs if you’d like?” he raised his brows.

“I’d like that,” she nodded, her teeth chattering slightly as she looked up at him. “You’re freezing,” he stated, “that is the trouble with staying still so long in such cold…come, I will take you back to camp and have them fix you a hot bath.” Robb let his hands guide her back towards the shore, only moving them from her waist when they reached the shallows. He darted ahead of her then and picked up his doublet, wrapping it around her shoulders as she shivered almost violently, before he pulled his tunic up over his own head and pulled on his boots. Roslin slipped her own shoes on and he took her hand when they were ready and led her back up through the trees and towards the camp.

He was pleased to note that several fires had been lit and he pulled her towards one of them and bid her stay close to it while he went to call for water to be boiled up. “Any better?” he asked her when he returned, placing his hands on her shoulders and rubbing up and down the tops of her arms rather vigorously. “A bit,” she told him, her teeth still chattering together and he hoped that the hot water would soon be ready for her bath. “I’m so sorry Roslin…I didn’t realise you couldn’t swim…” he shook his head.

“It’s alright…I never…said…I should have…told you…before,” she shivered out and he pulled her further back against his chest, rubbing his hands even harder up and down her arms. “Your bath should not be long,” he said, “then perhaps you ought to wrap yourself up for a while.” She nodded her head in response and he let his eyes seek out the women who were now trailing from the kitchen area with pails of steaming water. He felt relief, pressing a kiss to the top of Roslin’s head. The last thing he wanted was for her to get sick, the thought of it made his stomach churn.

He tried not to think about why, just as he tried not to think about how good it had felt to have her wrapped around him in the water. How good it had felt to hold her against him and feel her hands on his bare skin. They had not touched like that since their wedding night, since there had been so much pressure and so much tension surrounding them. There had been none of that out there in the lake. Roslin had been scared but it was him that she had clung through in her fear, and him who had been able to soothe her. He swallowed hard and tried not to think about how incredibly self-satisfied that made him feel, grateful when one of the serving girls called over that her bath was ready.

* * *

Roslin ate dinner alone, more disappointed than she cared to admit that Robb had not come to join her. Her husband had come to see her once she had taken her bath and dressed in warm clothing again. He had been full of concern for her and she had tried not to feel too pleased with herself as he had insisted on draping thick furs about her as she sat herself down to read her book. When he left to meet with his lords he had kissed her on the cheek, his lips seemingly lingering for far longer than they usually would. There was an odd look in his eyes when he had pulled back to look at her again but before she could place it he had been excusing himself to go to his council.

She lay her knife and fork down against her empty plate before draining the last of her wine and looking longingly towards her bed. She wasn’t tired as such, just sick of sitting in such an uncomfortable chair. Since she wasn’t entirely sure whether Robb would even be coming to spend time with her this evening she decided she would relax and read in bed. She could always get up again should he come. Roslin poured herself another measure of wine and set it down on the bedside table before blowing out two of the lamps and moving the other to the bedside table as well. She picked up her book and settled herself down against the pillows, slipping the furs about her and opening up her book to continue on with it, taking a sip of wine every now and again.

“I’m sorry,” Robb’s voice finally snapped her attention away from her book and she looked up to see him standing at the entrance of her tent, half shrouded in shadow; “I didn’t realise you were in bed…I will leave you…” he continued on and she instantly wanted to stop him from going. “Wait,” she halted him as he made to turn away, snapping her book closed and setting it aside. “I was just reading…it’s more comfortable here that’s all,” she continued, biting down on her lip and wondering if she was brave enough to say the next words. Roslin remembered the strange look in his eyes from earlier in the day and swallowed hard, deciding she was brave enough after all. “You could always pour yourself some wine and join me,” she said quietly.

For a moment she thought he would refuse, make an excuse and leave her alone. For a moment she was certain that he would do just that and leave her utterly humiliated. The moment passed when he turned back from the entrance and moved to the table where the flagon of wine was resting. Roslin watched nervously as he poured himself a measure, her stomach clenching in knots as he approached the other side of the bed and placed it carefully down on the side. His hands seemed to shake slightly as he moved them to the fastenings of his doublet and Roslin averted her eyes, reaching out instead to pick up her own cup and take a long sip from it, only moving it from her lips when Robb moved to climb into bed beside her.

She turned her head to smile shyly at him and he returned her smile, sending relief flooding through every inch of her. He reached out for his own cup and raised it to her, meeting her eyes; “to you,” he said softly and she couldn’t help but smile as she moved her own cup to knock gently against his before they both took a drink. “So,” Robb said, “aside from the fact that you are a wonderful artist, what other talents have you been hiding from me?”

She laughed at that, the tension between them broken as he joined in. They spoke for hours after that, about everything and nothing all at once. Sometimes they were serious and sometimes they laughed so hard that Roslin’s sides ached. She wished Robb would always laugh, that his eyes would always light up in delight when he set them on her. She wished they could always be so carefree and, dare she even think it, happy. The oil lamp was burning low and beginning to flicker when Robb seemed to realise exactly how long he had been with her. “Gods it’s getting late,” he said, “I am not looking forward to heading out into the cold.”

“You could always stay,” Roslin said before she could stop herself, swallowing down hard as he turned his head to meet her eyes. “I could,” he agreed softly and she nodded her head, shifting her body in the bed so that she could lean over and snuff out the lamp. Her heart was pounding when she turned back towards him, barely able to see him in the near pitch blackness. She let her head come to settle down against the pillows, laying on her side with her body faced towards him. After a moment she could make out that he had adopted a similar position, his body a few inches away from hers but turned towards her. She swallowed hard again, wondering if she should say or do something…

“I know you must have expected me to come to your bed before now,” Robb said quietly through the darkness before she could decide what to do. She held her breath, wondering if she should say something or wait for him to go on. “I know you might have been worried…that you might think you had done something to displease me,” he went on and again she said nothing, biting down on her bottom lip gently. “You haven’t,” he told her, quietly but firmly; “the truth is I do _want_ to share your bed…I think you’re a beautiful woman Roslin…”

“Then why haven’t you?” she asked him softly before she could stop herself, her heart pounding as she waited for him to answer. “We _had_ to on the wedding night, there was no other choice…but I…I didn’t want to be with you like that again when I felt I barely knew you. We were perfect strangers Roslin…I suppose I want to know you better before we are so intimate with one another again,” he replied and she felt tears sting her eyes.

“I thought you didn’t want me,” she confessed in a tiny voice, somehow managing to force back the sob that was threatening to rise up in her throat. The bed creaked in reply and she felt Robb move closer to her, his hand coming to gently rest on her waist before he pressed himself against her. Roslin let her own hands come to his chest and he moved them so she was laying across him as he rolled onto his back. She leant her head down against his chest, feeling his heart thudding quickly in her ear through the thin cotton of his tunic. “A man would have to be mad not to want you…but there is no rush…perhaps tonight we can just try this?” he whispered against her hair and she nodded against him.

Robb kissed the top her head then and she breathed out a sigh of relief against his chest, feeling his hands encircle more tightly around her waist. She liked feeling his warm hands through the thin silk of her nightdress, doing her best not to think about how they would feel on her bare skin. She remembered his hand between her legs and she had to repress a shudder of delight. Roslin contemplated telling him that she would be willing. More than willing. She decided against it, not wanting to spoil the moment. Right now she was more than content to just fall asleep with his strong arms holding her securely to his chest.


	13. XIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers again for the Kudos, you guys are lovely!
> 
> Thank you to solarisday, glad you enjoyed it and hope you like this new one!
> 
> Also, thank you to Marsh, sorry you miss Jeyne, there will be more of her I promise, but I am glad you're getting on with Roslin too ;)
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this new update!
> 
> :)

* * *

Robb was tense when they rode into the camp at Oxcross, but he was doing his best not to let it show as Roslin was riding at his side, her face a picture of serene happiness as she looked about her new surroundings. They would stay here a few days at least, allow his men and horses to rest before they considered a march on Lannisport. Having such a place taken over by his own men would be a great triumph, almost as great as taking the Rock itself. Such a thing would take planning, and now he had all of his lords back in one place they could plan every last detail. Everything had to be perfect, they had to ensure that minimum damage was done to their numbers. If they lost half their men taking Lannisport then there would be no way they could hope to take the Rock.

Thoughts of invasions and sieges were far from his mind as they rode towards the centre of camp though, his eyes searching for her despite himself. There was no sign of her, nor of Alys for that matter, and Robb again found himself hoping that Edmure had housed them in a near-by inn. It was craven of him not to want to see Jeyne again but he was scared about how it would make him feel. Thinking of her eyes and her smile had him drawing in a deep shuddering breath before he turned his head to contemplate his wife. Roslin turned her own head at his movement and smiled widely at him. She had been happy these past days and he knew it was because he had been making more effort. He had taken to sleeping with her, holding her in his arms and forcing the guilt down deep inside him.

Still he couldn’t bring himself to bed her, even though he could see it in her eyes sometimes that she would be more than receptive to his advances. He did want her. Sometimes when he woke in the morning with her pressed tightly against him he almost gave in to his body’s urges. He would be painfully hard, wanting to prise her gently from his chest and roll her onto her back. It would be so easy then to tug up her nightdress and bury himself between her legs. Sometimes he wondered why he was denying himself. He _wanted_ her, and he was almost certain that she wanted him too. Why could he not just give into it?

The answer was simple. Jeyne. He had bed Roslin on their wedding night because he had told himself that he had to. That it was necessary. Duty dictated that he had to bed her and claim her innocence to fully consummate their marriage and make it legal. Once it was done though… He knew he would have to bed her to get her with child but it was no longer something he was required to do. Their night time rituals no longer had anything to do with anyone else. That’s why he hadn’t been with her entirely again, because if he did give into it then he would be admitting to himself that he enjoyed having her as his wife. Right now he could just about admit to himself that he enjoyed being her friend, anything more than that just terrified him.

Even though Roslin was his wife he still felt that bedding her, and enjoying it, would be tantamount to a betrayal of every feeling and every touch he had shared with Jeyne. Just thinking about it made his head hurt and he determined to stop as their horses finally came to a halt in the middle of camp. Again he glanced around for Jeyne as he dismounted, still seeing no sign of her as he moved to help Roslin down from her horse. She turned to look up at him with a smile when he settled her onto her feet and he forced a smile of his own for her.

“Well, here we are,” he tried to sound bright; “likely I will be called away to the lords in a moment…the men will have your tent set up as usual and I will come to you as soon as I can.” It was all he could promise her right now. Ordinarily he would promise to come to her for dinner, or for bed. Right now he wasn’t sure if he could promise either of those things. Part of him just wanted to run away from her and never look back. The other part of him wanted to drag her into the nearest tent and ravish her, prove to her and himself that he could move on and be a proper husband. “I imagine you will have a lot to talk about,” she smiled up at him, “don’t worry if it’s late when you come…I don’t mind waiting for you.”

* * *

Jeyne took a deep breath as she watched him from the entrance of the tent, keeping herself hidden behind the canvas as she peered out at him. It hadn’t taken long to work out who Roslin Frey was. The _queen_ , she reminded herself, her eyes scanning the petite woman again. She was beautiful, delicate and almost doll-like. Jeyne almost felt herself warming to her when she saw her bestow a wide smile on Robb. She couldn’t see his face, only hers as her mouth moved, forming words Jeyne would never be able to hear. Her imagination almost running away with her as she thought of the terms of love and endearment that could be passing between them.

She swallowed hard as Robb placed his hands on Roslin’s shoulders, leaning into her and obscuring Jeyne’s view. She could only imagined they had kissed, seeing the wide smile adorning the queen’s face when Robb pulled away again. He walked away from his wife in the next moment and Jeyne took a deep breath and blinked her eyes quickly. She had always known it would hurt…but she had not anticipated quite how much. When she was certain that Robb had gone she made her way out of Alys’ tent and bowed her head as she made to cross the camp and go back to her own.

“Excuse me?” a voice stopped her and Jeyne took a deep, measured breath before she turned around, somehow knowing who she would be faced with. “My queen,” she greeted at once, dropping into a low curtsey for Roslin before straightening up and determining to meet her eyes. “Forgive me,” the smaller woman smiled, the action only serving to increase her beauty in Jeyne’s eyes. “I have only just arrived and I wondered if perhaps you were Lady Tully?” the queen raised her brows and Jeyne forced a smile before she shook her head. “No my queen,” Jeyne answered her, “I am merely her attendant, I believe she went for a short walk about camp with her husband.”

“Never mind,” Roslin continued to smile, her eyes darting towards where the men were erecting a tent and Jeyne could only imagine it was hers. She tried not to imagine her with Robb in there, imagine her stretched out with his body above her, kissing every inch of her flawless porcelain skin. Jeyne felt sick, hoping her features were still and relaxed as Roslin fixed her gaze firmly on her again. “What is your name my lady?” she asked her and Jeyne swallowed hard. She couldn’t lie, but what if Roslin knew about her? Oh Gods. She looked around for help, hoping that Lady Stark would see them and come to her rescue. There was no such luck. No sign of her or anyone else who would bother to step in and so she took a deep breath before answering her.

“Jeyne,” she said, looking for any flicker of recognition in the queen’s features. “Jeyne?” Roslin repeated, a tiny frown creasing her brow as she continued looking at her quizzically. “Westerling,” Jeyne elaborated, trying not to cringe away from the other woman. She could see nothing on Roslin’s face that looked like suspicion or anger and so she slowly let her breath out. “You are from the Crag,” Roslin stated and she nodded, “how long have you been Lady Tully’s attendant?”

“Not long,” Jeyne said, hoping that her answer would suffice and that she would not be pressed for exact details. “I am surprised a high born lady such as yourself would want such a position…who arranged it for you?” Roslin asked and Jeyne tried not to panic under the woman’s searching gaze, hoping that she wouldn’t arouse any suspicions. “I didn’t want to stay at the Crag after it was taken, it no longer felt like my home…the King arranged a position for me,” Jeyne told her, it was the closest to the truth she could muster and she hoped it would suffice.

“My husband is always most thoughtful,” Roslin said quietly and Jeyne said nothing, wondering if she was imagining the possessive tone and the almost warning look that Roslin bestowed on her. She was almost certain that she was being paranoid in the next moment though as the queen smiled serenely at her again. “Well I shall not keep you lady Jeyne, doubtless you have much to do…besides, it looks as though the men have finished with my tent,” Roslin said, smiling once more as Jeyne dropped into another curtsey, giving her one last look before she turned and walked away.

Jeyne’s heart was beating uncomfortably quickly as she watched her walk away, finally taking her eyes from her when she disappeared into her tent. That had almost been too much for her. She had expected to come face to face with Robb’s queen eventually but she had never anticipated that it would happen so quickly. Her hands shook as she made her way to her own tent, inwardly praying that Roslin knew nothing of what she had once shared with her husband. There had been something for a moment, something that told Jeyne that Roslin knew more than she was letting on, but it had only been for a moment and she imagined that she was just being paranoid. At least she hoped she was just being paranoid.

* * *

Robb glanced around as he walked towards Edmure’s tent with Roslin on his arm, thankfully not seeing any sign of Jeyne. Part of him wanted to see her above anything else in the world, the other part of him never wanted to lay eyes on her again. He also didn’t think he could cope with being alone with Roslin tonight which was why he had suggested to her that they go and share a drink with Alys and Edmure. His wife had been happy to comply and seemed perfectly content at his side as they strolled towards the tent. Edmure called for them to come in when Robb announced their arrival and he pulled back the canvas and gestured for Roslin to walk in ahead of him.

“So wonderful to meet you, my queen,” Edmure bowed to her at once and Robb managed a faint smile as Roslin outstretched her hand and allowed Edmure to place a kiss to the back of it. “A true pleasure,” Alys added, standing up and curtseying for Roslin, who Robb could see looked rather overwhelmed by the greeting. “Thank you,” she finally managed, smiling widely, “it is wonderful to meet you both as well, and please…call me Roslin; we are kin after all.”

“As you wish Roslin,” Edmure smiled jovially for her, “please sit yourself down.” Roslin did as she was told with thanks, taking the seat next to Alys and sharing a smile with her. Robb hesitated for a moment before sitting himself down on Roslin’s other side, his uncle sending him a questioning look to which he inclined his head slightly. “Now then,” Edmure clapped his hands together, “who is for wine?” All three of them indicated that they would like some and Edmure moved to the side table just as the flap of the tent was pulled aside.

“Oh,” Jeyne looked visibly startled as she walked in but Robb saw her forcing her face to remain neutral as he felt his own body stiffen unbearably. “I’m sorry,” Jeyne went on and Robb instantly wanted to stand up, cross over to her and pull her into his arms. He should be the one who was sorry, not her. He wanted to tell her that as well but he could do nothing but remain where he was and force himself to show no flicker of emotion nor recognition. “I had no idea you had company Lady Tully, I thought you would be alone…forgive me,” Jeyne made to leave and Robb let out a breath of relief that was short-lived.

“Why don’t you stay my lady,” Roslin said, “you would be more than welcome, wouldn’t she Robb?” her eyes turned to him then and Robb forced himself to look at his wife, bringing a smile to his face and shrugging one of his shoulders in what he hoped was an unaffected manner. “Whatever you like,” he answered her and she smiled brightly at him before turning back to Jeyne. “There we are, it’s settled, join us,” Roslin said.

Again all he wanted to do was apologise over and over to Jeyne but he couldn’t even look at her as she moved to carefully seat herself on Alys’ other side, her own eyes avoiding looking towards him. This was worse than he had imagined. Seeing her again. Being in her presence. He wanted her more than anything and he wished the feelings would go away. Roslin was his wife. They had been happy for the last few days, why wouldn’t his mind just let him focus on that? How was he expected to build anything with her when his heart wouldn’t stop pounding for Jeyne? “Where is this wine uncle?” he asked after a painfully long minute of silence.

“Of course…just a moment,” Edmure sounded a little flustered and Robb shot him a warning look. The last thing he needed was his uncle and Alys behaving oddly and arousing Roslin’s suspicions. If he and Jeyne could handle this then they would damn well have to as well. Alys struck up conversation about Roslin’s hairstyle in the next moment as Edmure began handing out full glasses. Roslin had soon drawn Jeyne into the conversation as well and Robb shared an uneasy look with Edmure as his uncle took the seat opposite him. “Well usually I wear it loose,” Roslin was saying, “for the wedding it was braided back from my face but I found it rather fussy, too much to do every day…but then, I suppose you have an attendant to help you.”

“Yes,” Alys replied, “Jeyne is a great help, although I enjoy her being here more for the company than how well she can style my hair.” Roslin laughed lightly at that and Robb chanced a glance at Jeyne, her eyes meeting his for a split second before she averted her own. He wished he hadn’t looked. It had only served to make him feel a thousand times worse. In the next moment he drained his glass before rising to his feet and moving to the side table to pour himself another one. Before he moved back to take his seat he drained half of it in one before topping it up. When he moved back to Roslin’s side he saw her looking at him quizzically.

“Are you alright?” she asked in concern and he forced a smile for her, hoping it would be enough to placate her. “Of course I am, it’s been a long week of riding is all,” he told her and she smiled slightly at him, keeping her gaze on him for another long moment before she turned her attention back to Alys and Jeyne. “It has been rather a long journey, it will be nice to be settled in one place, even if it is just for a few nights,” she said to them.

On and on the conversation went but Robb barely paid any attention to it after another few cups of wine. Edmure seemed to cotton on to his mood after a while and moved the flagon to the low table in front of them so Robb didn’t have to keep getting up and refilling his cup. His head was spinning by the time Roslin turned back to him, her image swimming in front of his eyes as he blinked a few times to try and get her to come into focus. “I think I’m going to retire,” she told him, leaning closer to him and he allowed himself to lean into her. “Very well,” his voice slurred slightly, “goodnight.”

She smiled faintly, an odd look in her eye before she leant in even closer and pressed her lips to his. He was so stunned that he did not pull back from her as her lips lingered for a long moment before she pulled back from him and rose gracefully to her feet. “Goodnight,” she whispered back to him, holding his gaze and making his heart pound irrationally hard, his head spinning even more quickly. “Goodnight everyone,” she addressed the others, who murmured their own farewells, before she turned and walked out of the tent. Robb said nothing even once she had gone, his eyes trained on the flap of the tent she had just pushed passed.

He closed his eyes to try and slow his pounding head and heart, barely hearing Jeyne making her own excuses to leave. When he opened his eyes again Edmure was looking at him in concern. That was a look he had no desire to see and he shook his head, draining the last of his wine before he got unsteadily to his feet and made to leave the tent. He had to go after her, he just had to.

* * *

Roslin draped her dress over the back of the chair before picking up her brush from the side table and beginning to pull it through her hair. She had done that on purpose and she wasn’t proud of it, kissing her husband like that in front of his former lover. At least she hoped that Jeyne Westerling was a _former_ lover. Now that Robb was back in her presence Roslin was terrified of him slipping back into bed with her. She knew that it wouldn’t be unusual for a man of his standing to take a mistress, or even more than one, but she knew in her heart that it would hurt her far more than she was willing to admit. She took a deep breath and set the brush aside, turning sharply as the entrance of her tent was practically ripped aside to reveal her husband.

His eyes were slightly bleary but they were trained entirely on her as he entered and she held his gaze, opening her mouth to ask him if he was alright. Before she could get the words out he had closed the gap between them in only a few strides, his hands coming to her waist and clumsily knocking her back into the side table. If she had any words of protestation they died in her mouth as his lips crashed into hers. They were as clumsy as his hands had been at first but their rhythm soon settled and Roslin allowed her body to relax as she moved her lips with his, a little noise of surprise leaving her when he slipped his tongue into her mouth and pressed her even more firmly against the table.

Her own hands clenched around his shoulders as she threatened to topple off balance and in the next moment his hands slid down to her hips, pulling her away from the table and moving her towards the bed as he continued to kiss her furiously. Roslin’s stomach was in knots as her legs came to hit the side of the bed, Robb wrenching his mouth from hers in the next instant and shoving her down against the pillows. Her chest was heaving, her breathing ragged from his kiss as he struggled out of his doublet and dragged his tunic over his head before he collapsed down against her, easing her legs apart and placing himself firmly between them before he claimed her lips again.

Roslin gained some confidence from his kiss and dared to lift her legs up around his waist as her hands smoothed down his shoulders and along the muscles of his arms before moving to his back. Robb’s own hands came to tug up her nightdress, one of them sneaking under it as the other kept furiously tugging the material higher up on her thighs. Roslin’s back arched up into him as his hand came between her legs, his fingers moving deliciously against her much as they had on their wedding night. Only this time there was no fear inside her, only want. She lifted her hips up to encourage his movement and he pushed two of his fingers inside her, rocking them in out and out of her and causing her head to turn to the side as she gasped out for air. His lips instead came to her neck, his fingers continuing to bring her immense pleasure as his other hand came to fumble with his laces.

His fingers came from her in the next moment and her stomach clenched in anticipation, knowing what would come next, and knowing that she wanted it more than anything in this moment. Robb kept kissing her neck, still fumbling with his laces as he did so, a curse leaving him in the next moment. She was about to ask him if he needed her to help when he furiously pushed away from her and flopped down onto his back, bringing his hands up to his face and cursing again. “Robb?” she questioned him tentatively, pushing her nightdress back down over her thighs and sitting up so she could look down on him. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his face still hidden by his hands, “I’m sorry I can’t…too much wine…”

She swallowed hard and tried to ignore how much that stung, her eyes flickering down towards his breeches and seeing no hint of his arousal. Her own had been piqued, and he had seemed as though he wanted her. Was it really the wine? Jeyne crept into her mind and she blinked her eyes as they threatened to sting with tears, forcing her image away. “Robb?” she reached out her hand to touch his arm but he flinched away from her and she recoiled her hand at once. “Just don’t,” he said and she obeyed him, tears well and truly welling up in her eyes now. She turned away from him and his rejections, slipping under the covers and furs and curling up on her side, drawing a pillow closer to her so she could bury her face in it to stifle her sobs.


	14. XIV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as ever for the kudos, you all make me smile!
> 
> Auir, I know that was pretty rough but yeah, Edmure and Alys are happy! And yes, solarisday, it is a bit of a pickle but glad you're sympathizing with them all, there is no "bad guy" here.
> 
> Hope this chapter is enjoyed anyway, I think a few people might have been waiting for this...

* * *

When Robb woke his head was pounding and guilt was coursing through his body. He turned his head to the side and saw Roslin still firmly faced away from him, her knees drawn up towards her chest and her arms wrapped around a pillow. From the little of her face he could see he could tell that she had been crying, seeing the dried tracks that had slid down her cheek. The guilt rose higher and he tried to ignore his pounding head as he kicked the blankets and furs away from him and climbed out of bed. He felt like a damned fool. What had he been thinking? Coming to his wife drunk and trying to bed her for the first time since their wedding night… What in the name of the Gods had he been thinking?

He closed his eyes and rubbed his face firmly with the backs of his hands as he paced up and down Roslin’s tent for a moment to try and wake himself up properly. Despite himself he remembered pinning her down to the bed, remembered the eagerness of her lips on his and the warmth of her hands smoothing along his bare skin. He remembered touching her intimately, eliciting wanton moans from her mouth as her back had arched up into him. He remembered wanting her. His body betraying him. Somehow he bit back a curse, refusing to think on why he couldn’t perform his duty in his wife’s bed. Jeyne was not an image he wanted to conjure up right now. Right now he needed to be alone.

Roslin’s slight stirring had him springing into action, picking up his discarded tunic and doublet, pulling them on before he wedged his feet into his boots and abandoned her again. Strangely he felt even more guilt now than he had done on the day after the wedding. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it was because he had been slowly coming to care for his wife, and perhaps her for him. Whatever blossoming feelings she had had for him he imagined she would be rethinking them when she awoke from her slumber. What would she think of him? What kind of man could not manage to bed his wife? Especially when the said wife was as beautiful and desirable as Roslin.

He was an idiot. No doubt about it. Camp was quiet as he walked through the centre of it, seeing some early risers wandering about in the distance. There was always a watch on the periphery but such was the scale of the camp he could not see it from here. He stamped towards the council tent, knowing that it would be standing empty as it was still early. There would be a meeting later in the afternoon but until then he would be able to hide away in here. Likely his lords would assume him with his wife, and his wife assume him with his lords. He sighed heavily as he placed his hands down on either side of the map, his eyes running over the markers that had been placed.

One thing he did have the answer to was how he was planning on overrunning Lannisport. The pieces were set. The strategy agreed upon. All that needed to be decided was when they would launch their attack. As ever, the lords seemed in favour of attacking just before dawn, when most people were abed and the guards their most tired at their posts. Robb had agreed, there was no reason not to agree. The army would be split again, into three this time. Hopefully that would give them even more of an element of surprise as they flooded the city from all sides. He let his eyes linger on the pieces again and tried to fill his mind with thoughts of battle and strategy.

It was no good. She kept creeping in and the fact that it was her was making him even more confused. His conflict had always been the other way round, feeling guilt over Jeyne. Guilty for spoiling her and then casting her aside to marry another, a woman he had no desire to be bound to forever. It felt different now, the guilt rising higher as he remembered the way he had left her, curled up and rejected having cried herself to sleep. Could he not have at least held her? Assured her that it was not because he didn’t want her? He _had_ wanted her. He still did. That didn’t make it any easier to stomach though. Wanting her had not been enough, his body had proven that.

* * *

She had been unsurprised to wake alone. Unsurprised but instantly full of determination as she had climbed out of bed and immediately set about getting herself dressed and presentable. It was still early, only soft murmurings heard from outside rather than the usual hustle and bustle that went with everyday life at camp. She brushed her hair through quickly and tossed it back over her shoulders, too impatient to do anything else with it. She needed to find her husband. They could not ignore what had happened the night before, as much as Robb might want to. In her mind she tried to think of the right words but all of them sounded mortifying as she left her tent, her eyes scanning the area for him.

Roslin could see no sign of him and she sighed heavily before she made her way over to the kitchen area where the serving girls were hurriedly trying to prepare breakfast. They curtseyed for her as she approached, apologising and telling her that it would be ready before too long. She assured them that she was happy to wait, that she merely wondered if they had seen the King. A few glances were exchanged and for a moment Roslin felt a knot of dread tighten in her stomach. Was he with her? Was he with that woman? In her bed? “I believe his Grace was heading to the council tent,” one of the older women finally told her and the knot in her stomach loosened. She brought another smile to her face and thanked them again before she made her way towards where she hoped her husband was still hiding. She knew he was hiding, it was all she herself wanted to do but one of them had to be brave. They had to try and fix this.

“You seem to have a habit of fleeing my bed,” she said softly as she entered, seeing him leaning over his strategy map, his back stiffening as she spoke. “Am I really so undesirable?” she tried to sound joking but part of her wanted a serious answer. Robb had claimed before that he wanted her, that he thought her beautiful, but if she were so desirable then why could he not claim her as a husband should? He said nothing and she swallowed hard, summoning up her courage as she moved closer to him. “We can’t ignore this,” she whispered, placing her hand on the small of his back. He seemed to jump at her touch, flinching away from her and pushing away from the table so he could turn and face her. The look in his eyes was unrecognisable but Roslin knew she didn’t like it.

“I’ve let you down,” he stated and she frowned slightly; “what must you think of me? What kind of man am I that I cannot even…” he trailed off, shaking his head and running his hand through his hair in what she could only describe as a desperate manner. “I think no less of you,” she told him and he snorted disbelievingly. “It’s _true_ ,” Roslin insisted, “I don’t know why you…couldn’t…but…but it doesn’t change how I feel about you…I…” she stumbled over her words, wondering how best to phrase them. Eventually she decided on total honesty. What did she really have to lose at this point? “I wanted you last night Robb,” she confessed, somehow meeting his eyes, “I wanted you last night and I…I still want you now.”

Something changed then in the depths of his blue pools, something she had no name for. She opened her mouth to speak again but his hands came to her hips before she could, pulling her flush against him. For a moment she assumed he would ravage her mouth the way he had done the night before but when his head tilted down towards her own his lips were tentative. Shy, almost. He nudged his nose against hers for a moment and she could feel his warm breath on her own lips, almost teasing her with such a close proximity. She leaned further into him and he seemed to take the hint, moving to capture her lips in a tender kiss. Her own lips moved with his, her hands coming to clench in the leather of his doublet.

Robb pulled her even closer, pressing their bodies tight together as he did deepen the kiss, his hands pulling at her and turning her. Roslin let him lead her blindly, her own thoughts taken over by their searing kiss as her bottom bumped into the hard wood of the table. She gasped against his lips and Robb trailed his away. Down her neck they went and she tilted her head back, a soft moan escaping her as he left a trail of fire across her skin. The fire sank deep inside her, twisting in her stomach and sneaking down between her legs. Her body was aching, aching for Robb to extinguish that fire but all he seemed to be doing was fanning the flames as his hands came to the bodice of her dress, loosening ties and tugging down on it to expose her breasts.

Roslin gasped as his lips trailed lower, his hands coming to cup around her bottom, lifting her up easily and setting her down on the table as his teeth teased one of her hardened buds in his mouth. She moaned out again, far more loudly than she had intended, but she couldn’t help herself. Her stomach was clenched so tightly in anticipation that it was almost painful and she needed the release. She needed the release that she knew instinctively that only Robb would be able to bring her. His name came from her lips, softly. Pleadingly. Her hands trailed down his doublet, coming to find the laces of his breeches, her fingers nimbly unthreading him as he groaned out against the flesh of her breast, his hands clenching more tightly around her hips.

When her touch found his length she wanted to cry out in triumph as she felt him hard, her fingers trailing lightly across the velvety softness as his own hands came about her thighs and pulled them apart easily. He came to stand between her legs, his lips trailing up from her breast and back along her neck as he tugged her skirts up. When he moved closer again Roslin allowed her fingers to come from his length, her hands running back up his chest and settling on his shoulders as he tilted her hips back. He was pressed right up against her in the next moment, his teeth lightly grazing her collarbone as he shifted himself to enter her.

Roslin gasped out as his length filled her, his hands sliding from her hips to cup around her bare bottom, digging his fingertips into the flesh as he moved her own body in harmony with his own. Each rock of his hips had a cry leaving her mouth as he buried himself deeply inside her. Her hands came to clench tightly in his hair as his own groans of pleasure were stifled by the skin of her neck. His pace was quickening and Roslin rocked her own hips, encouraged by his fingertips sinking deeply into the curves of her bottom. She was desperate for the knots in her stomach to loosen, her lips coming to press kisses along his hairline as she clutched him closer to her, crying out again as he moved faster and faster.

She felt so hot she thought she would explode, the heat that was building up between them almost unbearable. It ached in places she never knew existed but it was such a sweet ache. Such an overwhelmingly glorious agony. It was all she could do not to scream at the pleasure he was pounding into her, her legs clamping even more securely around his waist, one of her hands coming to try and brace herself against the table as his quick thrusts had them almost off balance. Several of the map markers went rolling to the side but she barely cared as Robb’s movements had her practically seeing stars behind her eyes.

Her whole body felt as though it were trembling, her thighs tightening around his waist as she cried out breathlessly again. In the next moment she fell apart in his arms, her head tilting back as her hand clamped about his shoulder more tightly so she wouldn’t collapse. Every pore of her was tingling as she felt his own end spread through her, his hands tightening about her hips for a moment before pulling her closer. He was breathing hard against her neck, his hot breath the only thing she felt she could focus on as her own breath came hard and sharp. Robb tilted back slightly after a long moment of them just clinging to one another, his length slipping from her as he did so.

She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked up to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said breathlessly and she frowned at him, her heart beating irrationally hard in her chest. What did he mean? Sorry? Why was he sorry? Did he regret what had just happened between them? Did he wish it hadn’t? Roslin prayed it wasn’t so, she had never felt more physically or emotionally fulfilled in her entire life. Being with Robb like that…it had been indescribable. Had he not felt it too? Was it a mere necessity to him, surely it meant more? She could not be the only one who felt the intense connection between them, could she? “That was not the most proper way to treat my queen,” he finally elaborated and her tension soothed away at once.

“Your queen has no complaints your Grace,” she told him in a teasing tone, her lips curving up into a wide smile for him that he returned at once, something that looked almost like relief shining in his blue orbs. “I’m glad,” he said sincerely, holding her eyes and she swallowed hard. This felt like they were balancing on some uneven edge, one word out of place could tip either of them the wrong way. She wanted to fall into happiness and heady bliss, but she could sense the awkwardness and the embarrassment threatening drag them down on the other side. Roslin bit her lip and looked to the side, seeing Robb follow her line of sight to his scattered map markers.

She moved her hand up to cup his cheek, hesitating a moment before she let the tips of her fingers run gently over the fullness of his bottom lip. “I think you may have to fix your maps before the lords come and wonder what on earth you’ve been up to,” she said softly, her lips quirking up into another smile as he chuckled lightly. He kissed at the tips of her fingers in such a tender manner that she felt her heart skip several beats as she held his eyes. “I think you might be right,” he agreed, stepping further back from the table and moving his hands to lace himself back up. Roslin followed his lead, tugging her skirts back down before righting her bodice. “But first,” he smiled, outstretching his hand to her, “I think we ought to break our fast. I don’t know about you…but I seem to have worked up quite an appetite.”

* * *

Catelyn hesitated as she watched Jeyne emerge from her tent. Part of her wanted to go to her, to see if she was alright and apologise to her for the situation that had recently been forced upon her. Edmure had told her about the awkward encounter, how Jeyne had had to sit there in the presence of Robb and Roslin. She sighed heavily. That could not have been easy for the young woman to endure and Catelyn could see, even from where she was stood, that Jeyne had had little or no sleep the night before. Her feet moved then before she could stop them, her mouth calling out to her before she could second guess herself. Jeyne stopped and turned as she approached, a genuine smile coming to her lips, but Catelyn could still see the sadness in her eyes.

“I saw Edmure last night,” Catelyn said lowly, “it can’t have been easy last night…” she trailed off as Jeyne snorted slightly, a wry smile tugging at her lips as she began playing with her entwined hands. “The queen bid me stay, what else could I do?” Jeyne asked her with a shrug and Catelyn smiled sympathetically. “Do you ever wonder whether it might be better for you to go home to the Crag?” she asked gently.

“My father doesn’t want me there,” Jeyne said bitterly, “he made his feelings painfully clear when I told him I was leaving with Robb. I am nothing more than a whore to him now…and I know it is my own doing…” she trailed off, taking a deep shuddering breath and Catelyn reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. “I chose Robb,” Jeyne smiled sadly, meeting her eyes, “and now I have to live with that choice…I can’t leave here Lady Stark, despite everything I just can’t leave. I just want to keep my head down and continue attending on Alys…her and Lord Tully have been most kind to me.”

“If you ever need to talk…” Catelyn raised her brows insistently and Jeyne nodded gratefully, the gratitude in her eyes soon fading and the smile falling from her lips as her attention was clearly caught elsewhere. Catelyn turned, at once pleased at the sight and filled with utmost pity for Jeyne as she saw Robb and Roslin hand in hand strolling towards the queen’s tent. They seemed absorbed in one another, smiles shared between them as they walked across the camp. Thankfully Robb’s eyes didn’t flicker away from his wife and Catelyn breathed a sigh of relief before turning back to Jeyne.

“I should go,” the young woman whispered and Catelyn could see the tears welling in her eyes, her bottom lip trembling slightly. “Jeyne…” she tried but Jeyne only shook her head and turned to walk away, her steps brisk as she made her way towards Alys’ tent. Catelyn sighed heavily, not knowing what to feel. Seeing Robb and Roslin like that had made her hopeful for her son’s future happiness, knowing it was for the best that he was getting along better with his wife. She should have known that seeing that same thing would be near unbearable to Jeyne.

Part of her felt like having a quiet word with Robb about his tactfulness but then she knew that he may take that the wrong way. If she discouraged him in showing affection to Roslin then it may upset the happy relationship he appeared to be building with her. It was a _good_ thing, she reminded herself as she tried to force Jeyne’s devastated expression from her mind. Perhaps seeing it would give Jeyne pause for thought, perhaps she would reconsider Robb’s offer of marriage to one of his men. It might have been cruel for her to see it but at least now she knew that Robb was moving on, and perhaps that would make her realise that she ought to do the same.

* * *

Robb sat across from Roslin as they broke their fast, watching the dainty way his wife ate her food. Had he noticed that before? He couldn’t be sure. Delicate was always how he thought of her in his mind but he was able to attribute more to her now. Dainty was the latest in his list. It joined graceful, thoughtful, poised, gentle and funny to name but a few. _Desirable._ He watched as she placed her finger in her mouth and sucked off the drop of honey that had dripped onto it. His breeches seemed uncomfortably tight again and he was tempted to dive across the table and have her all over again. She met his eyes as her finger came from her mouth and he was certain she could read the lust in his eyes as a small smile came to play about her lips.

“I thought you were hungry,” she said in a teasing tone, one of her brows arching up. “I was,” he practically growled, “until my wife determined to seduce me over breakfast,” he went on and she giggled at him, her eyes glinting mischievously. “Seduce you?” she questioned him, “I have no idea what you’re talking about your Grace…”

“Oh…I think you do…” he nodded slowly and her smile widened, her eyes averting from his as a faint blush rose up on her cheeks. Robb had the overwhelming urge to reach out and cup her cheek, caress the softness of it and elicit a pleasurable sigh from her. He resisted. Just about. After over a week of trying to avoid her and supress feelings for her he now felt them all coming for him at a rush. Being with her…Gods it had been exhilarating. Coaxing pleasure from her, pushing her over the edge and dragging her down into sweet oblivion with him had felt so good and he ached to do it again.

Roslin was so soft. Sweet. _Desirable._ Was his mother right? Was this how it began? Were these the first foundations of their life together? Would this be the basis of their marriage? Could they hope that one day a huge, impenetrable fortress stood atop these basic foundations? She met his eyes again and smiled that little smile that he could never resist returning. He had thought himself to be merely content with her but that didn’t seem true anymore. He was _happy._ The familiar wave of guilt came crashing over him as he admitted that to himself. _What about Jeyne?_ The nagging voice needled at him and he determined to ignore it. Force it away.

His wife was his future. Roslin. It would be Roslin he took back to Winterfell with him when all of this was over. It would be Roslin who helped him rebuild his home. Roslin who would carry his child, be the mother of his children. His eyes unconsciously drifted down towards her stomach. Perhaps she was already carrying his child… He moved his eyes back up to her face and saw her looking at him curiously. “What are you thinking?” she asked him softly.

“About this being over,” he told her, “about how much I want to go home and try and salvage something from this awful mess.” She smiled slightly regretfully and slid her hand across the table towards his own. He allowed her softness to touch him, to let her thumb rub circles against the back of his hand, letting her soothe him. He exhaled deeply and her eyes moved to meet his again. “I know it won’t be easy,” she said quietly, “but I want you to know that I am here for you…for whatever you need. I am your wife Robb…and I will do anything to ensure your happiness.”


	15. XV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the kudos, you guys are lovely. Hope you enjoy the new chapter!
> 
> Thank you to Marsh for the comment, I know it's all rough on Jeyne right now but hang on in there! 
> 
> :)

* * *

Lord Bolton and his troops were trickling into the camp and Robb knew that he would soon be required to make an appearance in the council tent. A decision would have to be made about Lannisport and he had a feeling that he would soon be giving the order that they march in the morning. Before first light. Without warning. He glanced around, wondering if any of his scouts had arrived and wondering whether they would have anything of value for him. Robb looked back into Roslin’s tent, hearing the light splashes of water that told him that she was still relaxing in the bath. He let out a long breath, his mind caught up in the blissful night they had spent together. Since not bedding her it seemed he now had an insatiable desire to make up for lost time. First light had been threatening to creep into the tent when he had finally pulled her, drenched in sweat and exhausted, against his chest and allowed them both to find much needed sleep.

She was exhilarating. Intoxicating. His eyes found Jeyne emerging from a tent on the other side of the camp and he swallowed hard. He had not said a word to her since they had arrived and he felt that twinge of guilt, knowing that he really ought to say something. To acknowledge her at least. To apologise for the other night when she had been forced into his and Roslin’s presence. Roslin was not to know what she had done. Roslin was just trying to be kind. She was always trying to be kind, it was yet another thing that endeared Robb to her. He forced his mind from his wife, making his feet move towards Jeyne before he could change his mind. She looked startled on seeing him approach and he could imagine that part of her was seriously considering fleeing from his presence.

“Your Grace,” she greeted him, dropping down into a curtsey and keeping her eyes trained on the floor, even when she rose up again. “Don’t do that,” he said softly, guilt and regret nagging relentlessly again as she could still not seem able to look at him. “You are the King…I must treat you as such, especially in public where anyone could see us,” she told him quietly and he sighed heavily, knowing she was right but at the same time hating the distance between them. “I wanted to apologise…for the other night,” he said awkwardly.

“The queen was very gracious in inviting me to stay…she seems like a lovely woman,” Jeyne’s voice trembled slightly towards the end and he wanted her in his arms. He wanted to comfort her the only way he knew how. “Jeyne I…” he started but she shook her head quickly. “I really ought to go your Grace…the Maester is expecting me,” she said.

“The Maester?” he frowned, “Is something wrong?” He felt rising panic, and also a sense of dread that made him feel ashamed of himself as he looked towards her belly and hoped that it wasn’t so. “No…Gods no of course not,” Jeyne finally looked up to meet his eyes; “I’m perfectly fine, he has merely been aiding me in learning more about healing...as much as I enjoy spending time with Lady Tully she does not have need of me all day. I thought I might do something productive…I believe you will be riding out soon, doubtless there will be men in need of treatment when you return.”

“No doubt,” he agreed with her, his eyes flickering towards the Greatjon who was standing outside the council tent and fixing him with a rather insistent look. “I will let you go…it seems my lords are waiting for me anyway,” he smiled slightly for her and she returned it before she seemed to catch herself, her gaze dropping to the ground again as she dropped into another curtsey. “Your Grace,” she said politely, straightening up and walking determinedly away from him. He refused to watch her progress, instead turning back and walking towards the Greatjon.

“You ought to be careful lad,” the older man murmured to him, “people whisper and you do not want whispers to reach the ears of the queen.” Robb sighed heavily and nodded his agreement. The Greatjon was always honest with him, and forever informal when they were on their own. In the presence of the others he was always proper, and always Robb’s most furious supporter. He respected him immensely and knew that he was only trying to help with his words. “I know my lord,” Robb continued nodding, “it was just a brief conversation…I don’t plan on it ever becoming habit.”

“Right enough,” the Greatjon said, fixing him with a rather searching look for a long moment which had Robb wanting to squirm uncomfortably. “Is there anything I should know before we go in there?” Robb finally asked.

“There is as it happens,” the Greatjon slipped his hand into his doublet and drew out a letter. “Intercepted by one of the scouts, shot it down near the Rock. Seems Kevan Lannister will soon be on his way to the Capitol for the Royal wedding.” Robb clenched his fists at that, thinking about Sansa being married to the piece of shit who had murdered their father. “If we can lay siege to the Rock before the wedding takes place then there may still be time to get Sansa away from that place,” Robb said determinedly, seeing the look of apprehension cross the Greatjon’s features. “What is it?” Robb demanded briskly.

“Your Grace,” the use of formalities told Robb that he wouldn’t like what his bannerman had to say next. “The Royal wedding will not be taking place between Joffrey and Lady Sansa…he is to marry Margaery Tyrell.” Robb didn’t know what to think of that. Relief that Sansa would not be married to a monster and overwhelming dread over what would become of her now. If she was no longer set to be queen then what in the name of the Gods were the Lannisters planning on doing with her? The Greatjon answered that question in the next moment; “there is mention that Lady Sansa has been promised in marriage to Tyrion Lannister.”

“The Imp?!” Robb burst out furiously and the Greatjon nodded his head heavily. “Bastards,” Robb snarled, shaking his head as he clenched his fists together, trying to get his anger under control. _Calm_ , he told himself, imagining the words in Roslin’s soothing voice, _keep calm…at least it is not Joffrey._ It was the man who had likely sent an assassin to murder Bran in his sick bed though…the Gods damn it all. If only he had never been allowed to go free from the Eyrie…

“If it cheers you your Grace, I believe Lord Bolton has an idea that will bring Winterfell back into your control,” the Greatjon said and Robb looked up almost disbelievingly. “Well,” he managed after a deep breath, “I suppose we should join the rest of the banners and find out what this new plan is.”

* * *

“Hello stranger,” Roslin looked up to see Olyvar grinning down on her and she returned his smile at once. “Stranger?” she asked him with a raised brow as he came to sit down next to her on the blanket she had laid out in the sun. “I’ve barely seen you since the wedding, you seem to have time for no one but the King,” he said in a teasing tone and she rolled her eyes at him and tried not to smile. “I have to get to know my husband,” she retorted.

“Yes I suppose you do,” Olyvar agreed, watching her intently for a few moments as though he had something to say to her but could not find the words. “Is something wrong?” she asked him with a slight frown and he brightened his expression at once, shaking his head. “Of course not,” he promised her, “there is nothing wrong at all…I just wanted to make sure you were happy that’s all.”

“It was difficult at first,” she confessed quietly to her brother, her eyes darting about the camp to make sure that no one was in earshot. “I thought I was displeasing to him, that he resented me…but he’s been so different lately, I suppose we’re both getting used to the idea of being married. He makes me happy Olyvar, you were right about what you said…he is a good man.”

“You know I’d never lie to my favourite sister,” he teased her, nudging her in the ribs with his elbow and she giggled slightly. “You ought not to say such things Olyvar,” she teased him back as he grinned at her; “what would the others say?”

“I doubt they would care…besides, it is not as though either of us will ever be returning to live at the Twins again,” he said and her smile faded, a slight frown coming to crease across her brow. “What do you mean?” she asked him, “I know that I will be going to Winterfell when all this is over but surely you will go home, won’t you?”

“After being away I have no desire to go back,” he told her and her frown deepened, “oh come on Roslin…you and I both know it was hardly a wondrous place to grow up. You might have been scared about leaving there and marrying the King, but can you honestly tell me that now you are away that you miss it? Would you rather be there than here?”

“No,” Roslin admitted after a long moment and Olyvar smiled wryly. “So why would I want to? Becoming the King’s squire was the best thing that could have happened to me, the only thing I really missed was you, and now you’re here. I’m not going back Roslin, if the Gods are good and I survive this war, I am not going back there.”

“Then what will you do?” she asked him softly, her frown smoothing away now as she contemplated her brother’s calm and determined features. “I don’t know…stay as part of the court, hope that I can earn a knighthood from the King in time. Perhaps I will find me a nice, northern girl to settle down with and she can bear me sons and daughters.”

“I didn’t know you had such a desire for marriage brother,” Roslin said wryly, “I certainly would not envy your wife given your past antics,” she raised a brow pointedly and he barked out a laugh. “Are you chastising me sister? I have made no vows so how can I break them? When I take a wife, I hope it will be for love…and that she will be more than enough for me, for the rest of my days,” he said and Roslin raised her brows even higher.

“You’ve changed,” she said softly after contemplating him for the longest time. “They say that happens when a man rides to war,” he told her, keeping his eyes on hers, “your life can so quickly be ended and what would be left of mine if I were to die tomorrow? It makes you think of what you would leave behind…I want to leave a legacy, something for my children and my grandchildren to be proud of. I never want them to look at me with shame or disappointment.”

“You have never been a disappointment Olyvar,” Roslin told him seriously, holding his eyes and seeing him smile after a long moment. “I’m glad you’re happy Roslin,” he said quietly, nodding his head, “of all of them you deserved it…I never thought that I would be happy to see my friend marry my sister but…you deserve this happiness. Out of all of them, you deserve it the most, you were always so much better than that place and now you are finally away from there. You’ve grown so much stronger already, and I’m proud of you…you know that don’t you?”

“I do,” she nodded her head, swallowing hard to try and rid herself of the lump that had risen up in her throat, “and I’m so happy you’re here. I so hope you can stay with the court when all of this is done with…I don’t want my own children growing up with their uncle so far away.”

“I will never be far away,” he said, reaching his hand out and placing it on her shoulder, “and you know that if you need me I am always here for you, no matter what.” She nodded her head and he squeezed her shoulder tightly in his hand as she blinked rapidly and took a deep breath to compose herself. “Thank you Olyvar,” she said as she looked up to see Robb crossing the camp, his expression was not encouraging and she was instantly afraid of more bad news. She didn’t know how much more her husband could take. “I have to go,” she said distractedly and Olyvar moved his hand from her shoulder so she could rise up from the blanket; “I’ll try not to be a stranger anymore,” she turned and smiled for him before she set off towards Robb.

* * *

Robb came to her first, calling through the canvas of the tent. She bid him come in and he did so, and at once she saw the look in his eyes. That look she hated. That look that told her he had bad news for her. Before she could open her mouth to ask him what had happened Roslin’s voice was calling to her. It was Robb who answered, moving back to the entrance of the tent and pulling back the canvas to allow his wife to enter. “I saw you coming back from the lords,” Roslin said, her eyes on Robb, “I wondered if perhaps something had happened…”

“Sansa,” Robb said and Catelyn inhaled sharply, almost certain that he was about to tell her that another of her precious children was gone. Lost to her. Taken by the Gods before they had truly had a chance at life. “No…” she managed, shaking her head and putting her hand up to her mouth. Robb crossed to her at once, wrapping his hand around her wrist and gently pulling her hand away. “She’s not dead,” he promised her, looking her dead in the eye and she managed to take a relieved breath. “What then?” she asked him, not sure that she even wanted to know. Her daughter wasn’t dead, could she not just have that as good news and be done with it?

“Joffrey is to marry Margaery Tyrell,” Robb told her and she frowned, “and they are planning on marrying Sansa to the Imp,” he continued and she shook her head, taking a step back and sinking down into a chair. “Oh Gods…why? Why would they do this? My poor Sansa…my poor, poor Sansa…” she whispered, still shaking her head in disbelief. “Why Robb?” she asked him again, “Why?”

“Because if they stick my head on a spike as they are desperate to do then she will be the heir of Winterfell…of the North,” he told her and her eyes widened, unable to understand how he could sound so calm about all of this. “The North would never accept it…Stark or not, they would never accept a Lannister as their lord, surely they must know that? Surely?!” Catelyn demanded.

“Don’t worry, no Lannister will ever take Winterfell. I have made plans with my lords, plans about the succession should I fall,” he began and Catelyn shook her head again, her eyes meeting Roslin’s and recognising the fear in them. “Don’t say that Robb…please don’t say that, I can’t even think about losing any more children, I just can’t,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes now.

“It is a possibility we cannot ignore,” he said gently, pulling another chair around and sitting himself down opposite her. “If I should fall,” he began again, taking her hand, “then I want it to be known that Jon is my heir.” Catelyn tugged her hand from his at his words, staring at him incredulously as he gazed evenly back at her. “Him?” she whispered in a dangerously low voice but Robb’s expression did not falter. “He is my _brother_ ,” Robb told her firmly, “he has Stark blood in his veins as much as I do…if I should die without an heir,” his eyes flickered to Roslin, “then Jon is my choice to succeed me. I have issued the decree with the lords and I will send word to him at the Wall.”

“And what if you have an heir, what then?” Catelyn asked him, her eyes now going to Roslin and seeing her looking pale and confused. “If I have a child, or if Roslin discovers she is carrying my child then they will be the future of Winterfell, son or daughter. I have asked the Greatjon to be lord protector until such time as they come of age. Should it be a daughter, an appropriate match will be found for her when she reaches six and ten,” Robb told her calmly.

“What about me?” Roslin finally seemed to have found her voice, and Robb turned in his chair to look at her, holding out his hand to gesture her closer. She placed her hand in his as she stepped forward and Catelyn watched as he squeezed her reassuringly. “You will be the queen, that will not change…the Greatjon will obey you as he does me, but you cannot lead armies,” Robb told her gently and she nodded her head slowly. “ _If_ anything were to happen to you and I didn’t have a child…” she tailed off, looking at him questioningly.

“Then you would be free to do as you pleased, marry again…” it was his turn to tail off as Roslin shook her head almost violently. “No,” she said firmly, “if I lost you I…I would want to go to Winterfell…could I do that? Would they allow me?”

“Of course,” he reassured her at once, “Roslin you are my wife and my queen, if it is your desire to settle at Winterfell then that is your right. Jon would take care of you should such a situation ever arise.” Roslin seemed to take in a great shuddering breath then before she nodded her head, looking faintly more placated but still troubled. “Robb, I don’t like this,” Catelyn told him, shaking her head, and he turned back to look at her.

“I know what father did hurt you,” he said quietly, meeting her eyes, “but what other choice do I have? Bran and Rickon are gone, the Gods only know where Arya is and Sansa is to be married into our enemy’s house. I have to protect the North mother, and if I am to fall without an heir then Jon is the only choice left to me. Tell me you understand that mother, please.”

“I understand,” Catelyn said after a long moment, “but that doesn’t mean that I like it.”

* * *

“You’re quiet,” Roslin commented as soon as the serving girls departed their tent with their empty dinner plates. “Can you blame me?” Robb asked her with a raised brow; “I’m marching into battle in mere hours and my mother can barely look me in the eye,” he slammed his cup of wine down rather more forcefully than he had intended and he saw his wife jump slightly. The sight made him instantly guilty and he was already feeling enough of that without any more of it engulfing him. He stood up from the table at once and held his hand out to her. “I’m sorry,” he said meaningfully and she placed her hand in his and allowed him to encourage her up to her feet and into his arms.

“I can’t believe you’re going so soon,” she whispered into his chest and he clutched her closer against him, pressing kisses against her hair. “It feels as though I finally have you and now I might lose you…I don’t want to lose you,” her voice was trembling towards the end, her own hands clenching around his doublet as she held him back tightly. “You won’t lose me,” he whispered against her, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair; “I know the arrangements today scared you…it scares me too, thinking that I may never go home but…that doesn’t mean I’m going to die.”

“Promise you won’t put yourself in any unnecessary danger,” she said, pulling her head back from his chest and looking up to meet his eyes. “I promise,” he told her, holding her eyes, “now can we stop this? I want to forget it all…just for now, I want to forget it all with you.” She nodded her agreement and he leant down to capture her lips at once, kissing her slowly and tenderly. He just wanted her to absorb him, even if it was for mere minutes. He needed her to take him away from his reality just for a time. Her hands slid from around his back and came to his chest, her nimble fingers making easy work of the fastenings.

His own hands on her waist roamed to find her laces, tugging on them to loosen the fabric before finding the little hooks that held her bodice in place. When his hands found her bare skin he couldn’t help the groan that he released in her mouth, feeling her so warm, soft and firm. She pulled out of their kiss and he instantly wanted the taste of her back in his mouth. Before he could protest though she was pulling his doublet down his arms and letting it drop to the ground before she came to tug on the hem of his tunic. He helped her with it, dragging it over his head before tossing it aside and moving his own hands to her shoulders to slide her dress away. Even more of her flawless skin was exposed to him as he allowed the dress to fall to the floor, his fingers tugging on the single tie that kept her shift tight about her.

When it was loose he allowed it too to fall to the floor as Roslin slipped her feet out of her shoes, a faint blush on her cheeks as she stood before him completely bare. He had yet to see her like this. He had felt her, felt every inch of her the night before but seeing her like this in all her glorious splendour was a sight he wanted to imprint on his mind forever. Last night she had been shrouded in shadow, half hidden by tangled blankets and his own body encasing her own. He reached out his hand, letting his fingertips trace lightly down the valley of her breasts, hearing her breath hitch in her throat as he did so. Robb stepped closer, both his hands on her now, resting on her sides and thumbing against her firm breasts before he slid them down towards her hips.

Her own hands came to his bare chest, fingers swirling about the light smattering of hair before she moved her hands downwards, down over his stomach and dropping lower until she hit the top of his breeches. Feeling her hands deftly unlacing him gave him an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. She _wanted_ him, that only seemed to heighten the attraction he felt towards her and he was unbearably hard as he began to steer her back towards the bed. Roslin flopped down happily against the pillows but he stayed stood above her, his eyes roaming her body hungrily. She looked as though she wanted to hide her nakedness from his gaze so he shook his head. “I want to see you,” he whispered, “I want to remember you like this.”

If she was confused at his words she didn’t show it, stretching her body out obligingly for his perusal. The way her body twisted in the soft glow of the lamps had him transfixed, his eyes lingering on her face, on her lips, before his gaze roamed downwards. Lingering on her breasts which he knew from the previous night fit perfectly in his hands. Across her stomach, flickering around the nip of her waist and the narrow curves of her hips before he sought out what was between her legs. His hands came to push his breeches down his hips, his feet prising his boots from their opposite foot and kicking them aside as he crawled onto the bed, sliding his breeches all the way off as he went. Roslin spread her legs willingly for him and he came at once to nestle between them, his length rubbing up against her and feeling the warmth of her own arousal.

He pressed a kiss between her breasts before trailing his tongue lightly up and over her collarbone before latching onto her neck and eliciting a throaty moan from her. Her smooth legs were wrapping around his waist in the next moment and he could resist her no longer, shifting his hips so he was pressed right up against her. Her back arched up into him and it was all the encouragement he needed to slip down into her incredible warmth. It was easy to forget, easy to forget about everything that wasn’t bare flesh and moans of pleasure. It was easy to focus on her, let his senses be consumed by her as he rolled his hips almost lazily, burying himself slowly and deeply into her each time. Her nails clenched around him, her hands pressing him closer so their torsos could meet. Her breasts slid against his chest and he revelled in the friction it caused, a moan leaving his mouth that was muffled by the sweet softness of her neck.

Roslin shifted her legs up higher around him and he almost lost himself on his next thrust, feeling her begin to crumble down around him. Her undoing only ever served to bring about his own end and they were so close to tumbling down together into the depths of heady bliss. Gods he needed it. He needed it so badly. It was no longer just pure want, it was a desperate, insatiable need. “Please don’t leave me,” she moaned desperately into his ear, “please don’t leave me Robb…please…please…please…” He wasn’t sure what she was begging him for anymore as he pushed her right to the edge, her final cry of pleasure tipping him right over with her. “I won’t leave you,” he gasped into her ear as he collapsed down against her; “I won’t leave you, I won’t…I swear I won’t leave you.”


	16. XVI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone who left kudos, it's just lovely of you!
> 
> Thank you Ayoh, glad you enjoyed the sweet moments!
> 
> :)

* * *

He found it inexplicably hard to leave her. To prise her soft body away from his own and move away from her. She mumbled in her sleep, rolling over and burying her head in the pillow he had just vacated, her slender fingers clenching around it as she clutched it closer to her. Robb couldn’t help but let his eyes linger on her bare back, resisting the urge to trail his fingers down her spine to rouse her from her sleep so he could have her once more before leaving. The camp was alive, he could hear it as he moved about the tent, seeking out his breeches. When he found them he pulled them on, lacing himself into them as his eyes looked around for the rest of his clothes.

He had just pulled his doublet on and begun fastening it up when Olyvar’s voice called uncertainly from the other side of the canvas. “I have your amour your Grace, are you ready?” his good-brother asked him and Robb looked immediately towards the bed. The last thing Robb imagined Olyvar would want to see was his sister tangled up naked in blankets. “Just a moment,” he replied, darting to the bed and rearranging the covers about her to better cover her up. Unfortunately his actions roused her and her big eyes were blinking open in a moment, her brow creasing as she rolled over onto her back and looked confusedly at him as she stretched her body awake.

“Olyvar is here,” he said by way of explanation, “we will be leaving soon and he needs to help me into my armour.” Understanding crossed Roslin’s features then and she was sitting herself up in the next moment, the covers falling down about her waist and revealing her breasts. Robb had to turn away from her at that, he did not need the temptation now, not with her brother on the other side of the thin canvas. “He can come now,” Roslin said after a moment and he turned back to see that she had wrapped herself up in his robe, her hair all mussed up and her eyes bleary as she blinked at him. “Olyvar…come in,” Robb called through the canvas and it was moved aside in the next moment, a guard following after Olyvar bringing the rest of his armour that his squire couldn’t carry himself.

“Your Grace, my queen,” the guard bowed once he had placed the armour down on the table and Roslin mustered a small smile for him as Robb inclined his head. “The men are almost ready,” Olyvar reported to him when the guard had gone, “I have seen to it that your horse is saddled and waiting for you your Grace.”

“Thank you,” Robb managed a smile for him, his attention somewhat distracted by Roslin as she seemed to gaze at his waiting armour all the while worrying her bottom lip. “I’d best get prepared myself,” he said, moving towards the table and laying his hand down against the chest plate which was looking a little worse for wear after the battles he had already fought in it. “Would you help me with this Olyvar?” Robb asked, avoiding Roslin’s gaze now as he determined to think of nothing but the coming fight for Lannisport.

“Of course your Grace,” Olyvar moved to aid him at once, making sure his armour was secure, tightening all the straps and ensuring that there were no gaps that a lucky swing or arrow could take advantage of. When he was fully armoured he finally turned to face his wife and she moved towards him at once, wrapping her arms around his waist. He could not feel the warmth of her embrace but he felt comforted by it nonetheless as he let his own arms wrap tightly around her. “You meant what you said didn’t you?” Roslin whispered, “You won’t leave me?”

“That is the last thing in this world I want to do,” he told her, pressing his lips firmly against the top of her head. When he moved them away she pulled back slightly from his embrace, her big, innocent eyes meeting his for the longest moment. Everything else was blocked from Robb’s mind in that moment as he memorized her eyes, promising himself that he would return to see them gaze upon him again. “Be safe,” she said simply and he nodded his head for her before leaning down and pressing his lips firmly against hers and losing himself in her sweet kiss for a long minute. When he pulled away he managed a smile for her and she returned it, regret shining in her eyes when he wrenched himself away from her. “I’ll be back Roslin,” he said as he moved to the entrance of the tent, “pray for me.

* * *

Jeyne watched them all saddle up, her eyes seeking out Robb as he moved to the helm of the army. She swallowed hard, her eyes sliding to the huge pot in which she was boiling up bandages. There would be need for them later when the injured were returned to the camp. Gods she hoped Robb wouldn’t be one of them, or worse still that he would not be borne back unmoving and lifeless on a slab. She had to supress a shudder as she thought that, hearing the call being shouted back down the lines that they were to march. Her arms folded about her and she shivered slightly in the cold air. It was the middle of the night and all this activity seemed so unnatural. There were still men left behind, grim faced and forming a guard of honour for their king and his men to pass between.

They were left behind to protect the queen, to ensure that if anything were to befall Robb that she would be taken at once to safety. She would be taken to Riverrun and protected at all costs, especially if it was discovered that she was carrying his child. Jeyne had overheard Alys and her husband discussing it one night and had at once wished that she hadn’t. Robb needed an heir though, and like it or not, Roslin would be the one to provide him with one if the Gods were good. Jeyne tried not to think about how that would make her feel, keeping her eyes trained on the last trickle of men who were vacating the camp and following their king down towards Lannisport.

When the last of them trickled from view Jeyne’s eye was caught by the figure stood in the mouth of the tent opposite her. It was the queen, and she could tell in the soft glow of the lanterns that had been lit in her tent that she was wearing Robb’s robe. The soft, flannelled one that smelled like him. The one that Jeyne herself had loved to wrap herself in after she had bathed. She swallowed hard on seeing it swathed around Roslin, somehow the image of her in his clothing seemed far more intimate to Jeyne than the idea of him bedding her night after night. It was so personal. The mark of progress in the relationship. Proof that Roslin was no longer a wife he had taken out of duty, but one that he enjoyed being with.

Jeyne ought to be glad, it was all she had ever wanted for him, to be happy. Now that he was though she could not help the frequent stabs of bitterness and jealousy that would come for her. It seemed ever so easy for him. Why could it not be so easy for her? Why could she not bring herself to summon up her courage and walk into his presence to tell him she had changed her mind? To ask him if he would find her a husband from his ranks. Deep down she knew why she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t ask him because she was afraid that when she did there would be no flicker of emotion from him. She was afraid that he wouldn’t be jealous, that he wouldn’t care that she wanted to marry another man. The idea that Robb held no feelings for her anymore was terrifying, and she could not bear to have her suspicions confirmed.

For now she wanted to live in denial and pretend that he still loved her, that his queen had not managed to shift his attentions almost unwaveringly towards herself. Jeyne turned back towards her boiling pot of bandages as Lady Stark crossed from the mouth of her own tent and made her way towards the queen’s. She tried not to let her eyes flutter towards them but she couldn’t help herself. Jealousy again stabbed at her as Lady Stark placed her arm about a visibly upset Roslin’s shoulders and guided her back into her tent, the flap falling back into place in a very final way.

* * *

“For the North!”

“Stark!”

“For Winterfell!”

“The King in the North!”

The battle-cries were thrown up repeatedly into the air as the faint light of dawn began to appear over the horizon. They joined the clashing of swords and the screams of wounded and dying men as Robb moved himself around to engage another lion-adorned guard. Word had come that one third of his army had already swarmed the docks, disabling rudders and taking captains prisoner. No ships would leave Lannisport without permission from now on, especially not ones that were bound for Casterly Rock or the Capitol. Any supplies would be taken and distributed between Robb’s own men, and any excess that was easily preserved would be sent on to the North.

The movement of supplies was the last thing on Robb’s mind though as he moved his sword to clash against his assailant. His section of the army had been the one to steal down into the very heart of Lannisport, to take control of the city’s council and ensure that its overseers were taken as hostages and stripped of any decision making. The decisions would all be made by him from now on and he already had a mind to put Lord Karstark in charge of ensuring the city was properly garrisoned and prevented from making any move to aid the Lannisters. In effect, once Robb had control of it, it would be in lock-down, curfews placed on the residents and constant patrols to make sure none were trying to escape and send out any messages.

Grey Wind snarled around Robb’s side then and it seemed his wolf’s mere presence was enough to put the guard clashing against him off his swing. He was on his back in the next moment, Robb’s sword rammed deep into his chest, his breathing cut off with a gargle in an instant. Better a quick death than allow Grey Wind to finish him. His wolf seemed to have new targets in his sights though as he bounded, snarling and spitting towards a group of Lannister men who were surrounding the Smalljon and a small group of Northmen. Robb wagered they would not last long, his own attention moving away from them and towards the council buildings that his own forces were relentlessly battering against, determined to break through the doors.

The splintering sound of wood reached his ears as he moved closer, his own men on either side of him as another Lannister soldier moved to engage him in combat. This one seemed just as young as him, and thrice as green. Robb almost felt guilty for cutting off his life, his sword dripping sickeningly red as he allowed it to kiss the man’s throat. He slumped to his knees, choking on his own blood before collapsing to the side and hitting the ground with a final thud where he moved no more and no more sound escaped him. His men were still battering down the doors which were near to giving out now as Robb led even more to aid them.

As they began climbing the steps there was a final, splintering crash and the northern armies poured through the decimated doors at once. “Secure the buildings!” Robb bellowed out his reminder to them. “I want all those who surrender in chains!” A roar of what he could only assume to be agreement reached his ears as they flooded the grand buildings with frightening speed. Robb turned at the top of the steps and looked out over the battle that had been raging in the square. His numbers had easily overwhelmed those loyal to house Lannister and the smallfolk, who had appeared to aid their overlords at first, had long since scurried back into their shadowy homes when faced with the tens of thousands Robb had at his back.

* * *

Catelyn tried to concentrate on her needlework but it was difficult to as her eyes were almost constantly drawn to Roslin. She had taken to chewing on her nails, one of her legs constantly jumping up and down as her eyes stared blankly out in front of her. Her good-daughter was deathly pale and Catelyn knew that no words she could utter would soothe her. What Roslin needed was word from Lannisport that Robb had succeeded. She needed to hear that her husband and her brother were fine. Catelyn herself had knots in her stomach as she worried for her son, but she had been through this before, grown used to it and learned how to cope with the hours that went by before any word reached the encampment.

“How long do you suppose it’s been?” Roslin asked suddenly and Catelyn smiled faintly for her. “Not long enough to worry about anything,” Catelyn soothed her; “the battle may well be over but if they have already proved victorious then they will have to secure the city and believe me that will take some time with a settlement of that size.” Roslin nodded her head distractedly at that before she returned to chewing on her nails, her eyes darting about the place now and Catelyn imagined that she was conjuring up allsorts in her mind.

“Robb has never lost a battle,” Catelyn reminded her firmly and Roslin nodded her head briskly. “I know,” she said, her tone of voice more encouraging now; “I know that…I do…” she was still nodding determinedly and Catelyn frowned slightly. “Is there something you want to talk to me about?” Catelyn asked her and Roslin’s eyes met hers for a moment, her mouth opening and closing a few times. Just as Catelyn sensed that she was about to unburden herself however there was a call from the other side of the canvas and Roslin was springing up to her feet at once and crossing to wrench aside the material.

* * *

“The message to the queen has been sent your Grace,” Lord Flint reported to him and Robb nodded his head; that at least was a worry off his mind. Now he just needed to decide the best way of dealing with things here before he returned to camp. “Is everyone of power contained?” Robb asked his gathered lords who had joined him in one of the council chambers in the central, governing buildings. “We have several Lannisters,” the Greatjon confirmed, “most surrendered but some were killed after putting up a fight.”

“Where are the prisoners?” Robb asked, drumming his fingertips on the highly polished wooden table. “My son and lady Dacey are overseeing their transfer to the prison,” the Greatjon told him and Robb nodded again. “There will need to be a heavy guard, we cannot risk a rabble rising up and trying to break them out. Numbers will make it less likely that anyone would be foolish enough to try,” Robb said, “what of the docks?”

“Overrun by our men,” Lord Karstark reported, “Lord Tully has his own men and half the Freys at the harbour ensuring none of the ships can move out. Your Grace, I believe that much of the Lannister fleet is still harboured here.” Robb raised his head fully at that, his eyes widening and a smile threatening his lips. “Are you certain of that?” he asked his lord, “After the Blackwater it seemed certain that Tywin would move his ships to the Capitol.”

“Not all of them,” Lord Karstark said simply, a smile spreading across his own face now that had Robb almost laughing with glee. “I want them manned, and I want the merchants ships searched,” Robb said and his lords murmured their agreement with him. “Lord Karstark, I would name you temporary governor of Lannisport. You will have all the men you need to secure and garrison the city; though we may need to recall some to us when we move to lay siege to the Rock,” Robb informed him.

“Your Grace, I am honoured you would trust me with this,” Lord Karstark bowed deeply to him and Robb inclined his head. “We have long since been kin, I know you will not fail me,” he said, keeping eye contact with him for a long moment before surveying the others. “Do we have any idea of our losses, the number of injured that need to be taken care of?” Robb asked.

“Our losses only number in the hundreds from reports so far but we are still waiting on Bolton and Cerwyn troops to report back,” Maege Mormont told him; “there are many walking wounded and some of those more seriously wounded I believe should remain here to be tended to.”

“Can we trust the Maesters to aid them properly?” Lord Flint asked with a frown and Robb looked expectantly between him and Maege. “We have little choice, either we trust the Maesters to do their job or we leave them to die. Some men would survive the journey back to camp, others would certainly not,” she said and Robb grimaced. “It seems we have little choice,” he said; “we will have those who can be moved transported back. Lady Mormont, would you see to it?”

“Of course your Grace, I will have it seen to at once,” she bowed her head to him before she turned to take her leave, Robb taking a long breath as she made her way out. “How long do you wager until the Lannisters hear of this?” the Greatjon asked him and Robb sighed, running his hand through his hair. “With Kevan gone to the Capitol we can hope to keep this from them in the short term at least,” Robb said, “I want every effort made to ensure that no message of warning leaves the city…I know word will leak out eventually, but the longer we can keep this quiet the better.”

His lords all nodded and voiced their agreement at that. “I think it best you return to camp your Grace, with the men Lord Karstark does not need,” the Greatjon said, “we may have taken the city but there are still many here loyal to the Lannisters, I fear an attempt on your life if you linger too long.” Again the others voiced their agreement and Robb sighed. Part of him wanted nothing more than to stay here and make sure everything went to plan but his lords were right, him being here would only serve to draw more unwelcome attention. “Very well,” he nodded, giving in to the sense they were speaking and the urge to have Roslin back in his arms; “see to it that the men are ready within the hour.”

* * *

Jeyne tied yet another bandage, staunching another wound. They were running out of space here in the Maester’s vast tent for all the wounded. Some had been patched up and sent on their way, their injuries minor. There were more that would need to remain here though, under constant supervision, some for days and others perhaps for weeks. There was a thundering of hooves and Jeyne resisted rushing to the flap of the tent to see if it was Robb who had returned. From the whispers and conversations she had overheard she was almost certain that he was alive and well. Above all else she wanted to see that with her own eyes though, she needed that certainty and that reassurance that he had returned safe, even if he was not returning to her.

“Jeyne?” Alys’ soft voice sounded behind her and she turned from where she was arranging bottles of medicines and looked at her expectantly. “He’s back,” Alys told her quietly, “and I know I ought not to encourage you but I know you would want to see it with your own eyes. Take this, as a token from me,” she finished, offering a flagon of wine to Jeyne who took it with immense gratitude. “Thank you Alys, I know I shouldn’t…but you’re right, I need to see him,” Jeyne said and Alys nodded her understanding, clasping her hand around her forearm for a moment before she took her leave. Jeyne approached the Maester when she had gone and took a deep breath before delivering her lie; “we need more space for the men, his Grace has returned and I would go and ask him if any more room can be put aside.”

The Maester agreed with her, albeit distractedly as he tended to another of the wounded men and Jeyne took off at once before he had the chance to call her back. Thinking on it, it may be a good idea for her to ask Robb after all if there was any chance of more room being found. Tending to men in the campsite was difficult enough with all the threat of infection without them having to see to some of them out in the open. She approached Robb’s tent and called out softly, hearing no reply. Frowning slightly she pulled back the entrance a fraction, just enough for her to see that there was no one inside. That meant he was with the queen and she had half a mind to just walk back to the Maester’s tent and forget all about seeing him.

She pulled herself together though and thought of all the injured men who needed her, clutching the flagon of wine closer to her chest as though for comfort as she approached the queen’s tent. “Your Grace?” she enquired when she halted in front of the entrance, trying to keep herself composed as the canvas was moved aside to reveal the queen. “Can I help you lady Jeyne?” she asked quietly and Jeyne swallowed hard, desperate to get some moisture into her mouth. “I have brought this from Lady Tully,” Jeyne nodded down towards the wine, “and I also came to ask a favour from his Grace, on behalf of the Maester and the injured men.”

“Come,” the queen said after a moment of searching Jeyne thoroughly with her eyes and making her feel intensely uncomfortable. More and more she suspected that Robb’s wife knew far more about his and Jeyne’s previous relationship than she was letting on. She pushed it aside though and determined to remain meek and proper in her presence and not give her any more reason to suspect a thing. “The King is in the bath,” the queen told her as she set the flagon of wine down on the table and darted her eyes around the tent. “Forgive my timing,” Jeyne said and the queen smiled slightly at her, her gaze lingering for a long moment before she moved to pick up some cups. “Would you care for some?” the queen asked her as she poured the wine.

“No, thank you my queen,” Jeyne said politely and she nodded her head, pouring two cups before moving to place the third back on the side table. “I hope you don’t mind if I indulge, today has been rather testing,” the queen said and Jeyne could only agree with her on that score. “Of course not my queen, the wine was for you and his Grace to enjoy,” she said. The queen looked her over again and Jeyne forced herself to keep calm, only relaxing slightly when her eyes were away from her as she lifted her cup to her lips. “What happened to you joining me?” Robb’s voice had her turning despite herself, seeing his eyes widen slightly on seeing her when he emerged from behind the screen where he had been bathing.

“Lady Jeyne brought us some wine from Lady Tully,” the queen spoke up, moving passed Jeyne and handing a cup to him. “I do hope you’ll forgive me,” the queen continued quietly, but not quietly enough, “I assure you I will make up for it later.” Jeyne had to look away as Robb smiled widely at his wife before raising his cup to knock against her own before moving it to his lips and taking a long sip. “I do believe the lady Jeyne wanted to speak with you about the injured men,” the queen said then and Jeyne forced herself to look back at them. They looked every inch of perfection. Robb’s hair was still damp from his bath, clad in only a robe that was hanging loosely and showing her far too much of his strong chest. The queen at his side had her hand resting on his forearm, her tiny frame swathed in flattering robes and her big, beautiful eyes shining as she fixed her gaze on Jeyne.

“Yes your Grace,” she agreed with the queen, determined that she would at least try to keep eye contact; “the Maester is running out of space for those who are injured, he wondered if perhaps there was any way that more tents could be acquired.” Robb nodded his head slowly at her words, raising his cup to his lips again as he clearly pondered over what she had said. “What about your tent?” the queen asked him quietly and he nodded again, a slightly smile twitching up at his lips. “Yes of course,” he said after a moment, “I don’t think I will have need of it…I will see to it that it is cleared out for the Maester’s use,” Robb finished, turning his attention back to Jeyne. “Thank you, your Grace, he will be most relieved,” Jeyne said, bobbing into a slight curtsey.

“Is there anything else we can help you with my lady?” the queen asked her and she shook her head at once, her feet already moving towards leaving the tent. “I will take my leave, thank you for taking the time to speak with me your Graces,” Jeyne said, not waiting for any reply before she moved the canvas aside and stepped out of their presence. She took deep, measured breaths and willed herself not to cry. It had become more and more obvious to her that Robb was becoming enamoured with his wife but seeing it with her own eyes in such close proximity…hearing the affection and the warmth in their voices. Gods it was hell. A hell she could not escape from no matter how hard she tried. She swallowed down the tears that were threatening to rise up and walked determinedly towards the Maester’s tent where she felt she might actually be welcome.


	17. XVII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who left kudos, much appreciated!
> 
> To Gariecke, welcome to the new ships, glad you're enjoying it so far and hope you like what comes next!
> 
> And Ayoh, I know, silly, silly Robb...I guess that's why I write fanfiction, but yeah, not a great place for Jeyne to be right now!
> 
> Hope this chapter is enjoyable for all, I'll get another up soon!
> 
> :)

* * *

Robb kissed her almost lazily, sliding his hand down her cheek before letting it skim across the silkiness of her neck and tangle in her soft tresses. Her own hand came to his forearm, her soft touch caressing at him in a firm and affectionate manner as a tiny moan passed between her lips and was swallowed up by his kiss. He inched closer on hearing it, shifting his body so he was half above her, their bare skin pressing tightly together as he did so. Roslin’s other hand came to clench tightly in his hair at his movement, her own body twisting and arching against his as their kiss became more frantic. Robb knew he really ought to pull away, he didn’t have time for this, the sun had long since risen and his lords would be expecting him. New plans needed to be made now they had Lannisport in their grasp. It would do no good for them to tarry, they needed to get on and set a siege about Casterly Rock before news of them overrunning Lannisport reached the Capitol.

With some difficulty he wrenched his lips away from his wife’s, unable to resist pressing them to her neck and her shoulder for a moment before he rolled his body away from her. She made an irritated little noise as he moved himself off the bed and stretched himself before moving to dress himself. “That is a rather cruel trick,” Roslin told him and he made the mistake of turning to look at her, seeing her spread out naked on the bed, the sight doing nothing to ease the throbbing in his breeches. “So is that,” he returned darkly and she smiled wickedly at him before sitting herself up slowly and drawing a cover towards herself. “Must you leave now?” she asked him almost sulkily and he grinned at her tone of voice, knowing that she was as irritated as he was that they couldn’t just stay here in her tent all day in a constant state of undress and bliss.

“They will only come looking for me if I don’t,” he said, “and if I stay any longer then doubtless they would find us in a rather compromising position, and you know I would hate for my queen to be humiliated in such a way…” he finished fastening up his doublet before he approached the bed again, kneeling on the side and leaning in to press his lips to hers again. “Doubtless a little humiliation would be worth it,” she whispered against his lips when he pulled away, her warm breath fluttering enticingly against him. “Later my queen,” he whispered back and she smiled widely at him, pressing her lips firmly to his once more before she allowed herself to flop back down against the pillows. “I would suggest clothes,” he said lightly as he moved towards the entrance of the tent; “they will be coming with your breakfast soon.”

Robb breathed in the fresh, cool air as he crossed the camp, allowing it to chase away his lingering tiredness. It was his own fault, he supposed, indulging in Roslin for so long the night before instead of resting after the battle. His wife was just so damn irresistible though, he could not get enough of seeking pleasure from her, and bringing it to her. Her body shaking beneath him, her brow creased in anticipation of ultimate release as she moaned out his name. Gods. He needed to stop thinking about her like that, the council tent looming up large in front of him. He needed to focus. _Focus. Focus. Focus. Not on Roslin. Focus._

“I was about to send someone to you your Grace,” the Greatjon beamed at him when he entered the tent and the look of utmost joy on his face had Robb almost forgetting about his naked wife. “Something’s happened,” he said knowingly, his eyes darting between his lords before he focused on the Greatjon who was handing a letter to him. Robb took it, looking at the Greatjon quizzically. “Read it your Grace,” he urged, “you will not believe it unless you see it with your own eyes.” Robb looked at the seal first, seeing the sigil of house Umber, before he unfurled the parchment and began to read, his eyes widening more and more the further down he read.

* * *

“Mother!” the sheer excitement in Robb’s voice registered most prominently with her as she sat breaking her fast. “Mother!” he called again and she got up from her chair at once and moved to wrench aside the canvas entrance, seeing her son grinning at her, his eyes alive and sparkling in a way she had not seen for so long. Clearly he had been delivered good news and she wondered what it could be. Her eyes found the letter in his hand and she was about to ask him when he crushed her into an embrace. She held him back, thrilled at his sudden display of affection and even more desperate to know what good fortune had come for them.

“What is it?” she asked him, almost laughing as he pulled away from her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You will not believe…Gods I can scarce believe it but it’s true!” he sounded so full of glee that she really did laugh this time. “Robb would you tell me!” she urged him, a hint of frustration seeking into her now. “Sit down,” he returned, moving passed her and grabbing one of the chairs, swinging it round and indicating her to sit. She did as she was told, hoping that he would get on and tell her. He stood before her, his happiness giving way to something that looked almost like nervousness now and she frowned slightly.

“Rickon,” he said and she held her breath, her mind almost running away with her; “he’s not…he’s not dead mother.” Catelyn stared. She could do nothing else, her eyes wide as she stared up at her eldest son without really seeing him. “What?” she whispered, vaguely registering Robb unfurling the letter he had brought with him. He began to read it out to her but she could barely focus on the words, her mind spinning. She caught enough. She heard enough to know her baby boy was safe, that he had escaped Winterfell with Osha and made it all the way to Last Hearth. Tears were spilling from her before the end and Robb knelt down in front of her and pulled her into an embrace.

She clung to her son, wanting to ask him a million questions but feeling unable to make her mouth form any words. “He’s alive?” she finally managed, “He’s really alive?” Robb pulled back from her at that and pressed the letter into her hands. “He’s really alive,” her son promised her, his eyes fixed on hers; “look at the end, he wrote a message of his own…that’s his hand, I would recognise it anywhere. You would think that Maester would have improved his untidy scrawl by now,” Robb was laughing as he finished and Catelyn couldn’t help but join in.

“Mother there was more,” he stilled her hands as she made to unfurl the letter and see Rickon’s message with her own eyes. Robb now sounded serious and she was terrified again, her eyes quizzical as she met his. “Bran wasn’t killed either,” he said, but he sounded far less happy about it than he had about Rickon’s survival; “he left Winterfell with Rickon initially but they separated.”

“Why?!” Catelyn asked him aghast, unable to believe that they would leave one another, especially with Bran in the condition he was. “I don’t know how much Rickon really knows,” Robb looked uncomfortable, “but he has told the Umbers that Bran was having… _visions…_ that he was making for the Wall with Hodor and the Reed children,” he went on and Catelyn’s frown only grew deeper; “mother I don’t want you to panic but…but Rickon seemed to think that they were planning on heading out beyond the Wall.”

“What?!” Catelyn burst out, Robb’s urge for her not to panic completely ignored. “Likely Rickon has got confused,” Robb soothed her at once but she was not placated; “even so I have already written to Jon, if Bran truly was making for the Wall then he would not have reached it yet. Jon will look out for him mother and if he does arrive at Castle Black then I would wager my life that Jon will keep him safe and not even think of allowing him out beyond the Wall, if that is truly what he is planning.”

“Yes,” Catelyn nodded her head, determined to believe Robb’s word; “Rickon must be mistaken…he has to be, why in the name of the Gods would Bran want to go beyond the Wall?”

* * *

“Come!” Roslin called to her visitor, getting up from the table where she had just finished breaking her fast. She imagined it was one of the kitchen boys come to clear away the remnants of it and she turned to smile at them as the canvas entrance was brushed aside. Her smile faltered when she saw a full grown man stood there, her brow creasing into a slight frown as she appraised him. He was not one of Robb’s men that she recognised but he was clad in the right attire, a direwolf sigil imprinted on his armband. “I have finished breaking my fast,” she said, “if you have come to clear away then go ahead.”

“I have not come for that my queen,” the man told her and she raised a brow expectantly at him. “Did the King send you?” she asked him, for some reason her heart beginning to pound a little too quickly in her chest. Something didn’t feel right but she could not put her finger on it as the man moved further into the tent. “Yes,” he told her after looking at her for a moment, “he has a gift for you.”

“A gift?” her brow furrowed, that didn’t seem likely. Robb rarely bestowed gifts on her, just a few new dresses and a couple of books, and he had presented those to her himself. She was about to ask the man to leave, her eyes darting around him to try and see a way for her to dart passed him and out into the campsite. He seemed to notice her line of sight, his hand going for his sleeve and slipping a dagger from it. Roslin really did begin to feel increasing panic then, her mouth dry as he adjusted his grip on the blade; “from the Lannisters,” he said simply.

He went for her then but Roslin darted to the side, her small size making her quicker on her feet as she shouted out desperately for help as she went for the tent entrance. The man grabbed at her wrist, hauling her back towards him and she raised her other arm up in defence, his blade slicing easily through her dress and stinging at her skin. She screamed out again, her fear piqued but her will to survive truly kicking in now as she twisted herself from his grip, both her hands going for the arm that held the blade. He tried to shake her off but she clung on with all her strength, bringing her mouth closer and biting down hard on the joint of his wrist.

A roar of pain escaped his own lips then and the dagger fell from his grip, his other hand coming up to yank at her hair. Roslin cried out again as he grabbed her roughly, well and truly in his grasp now, but at least he no longer had the blade in his hand. For a horrible second she imagined him wrapping his hands around her throat and squeezing the life out of her but then he shoved her away from him. She unbalanced at once, flying over one of the chairs and hurtling to the ground, she collapsed down in a heap, her head hitting the edge of the side table hard.

She brought her hand up to her head as her vision swam, blinking her eyes to try and focus. _Get up!_ Her mind screamed at her but her body seemed unable to obey. “Robb…” she mumbled, her voice sounding slurred at her attacker appeared above her again, the blade back in his hand. This was it, there was no escaping him now; he would kill her and leave her body here to be discovered later. By one of the kitchen maids perhaps, or perhaps even Robb. “Robb…” she said again, tears leaking from her eyes, determined that her husband’s name would be the last thing she would utter in this world.

Her eyes closed, she didn’t want to see the end come closer. She wanted to die with Robb’s image conjured up behind her eyes. She wanted to see him smile, to see him laugh one more time as his beautiful eyes met hers. A snarl snapped her eyes open again, her vision less blurred now as a mountain of grey fur flew through the air. Somehow she managed to roll onto her front and crawl underneath the table as Grey Wind knocked her attacker to the floor. She screamed out for help again, though she would be amazed if she was even heard above the snarls of the wolf and the screams of the man.

His screams stopped in a moment and Roslin was afraid to look, to see what kind of damage Robb’s wolf had managed to inflict. She put her hand to her head again, withdrawing it after a moment and seeing blood on her fingers. It didn’t seem to be a lot but it did make her feel a little woozy as her eyes went to appraise the cut on her arm. Grey Wind whined then and she looked up to see his great head seeking its way under the table, his yellow eyes full of what she could only describe as concern. Somehow she managed to smile for him, reaching out a shaking hand to touch his blood-soaked muzzle. “Thank you,” she whispered.

* * *

Jeyne heard the screams as she walked from the supply tent, her arms full of fresh bandages. She had frowned at first, wondering where they were coming from. It only took a moment to realise as she saw Olyvar racing across the centre of the camp towards the queen’s tent. Another second passed before Jeyne took off after him, not stopping and spilling half her bandages in the process. She wrenched the flap of the tent aside without invitation, two more men at her back as she entered the tent.

The scene before her made her want to be sick and she couldn’t help but gag at the sight of the man lying there on the ground with his throat torn out. There was a dagger in his hand and a blood soaked Grey Wind was whining, prowling around the dead man. Jeyne snapped her eyes away, looking instead towards the queen who was in her brother’s arms and near hysterical. There was blood on her as well and Jeyne swallowed hard, wondering if it was her own or that of the man that must have attacked her. It seemed the only explanation for what she had seen, and the men who had followed her into the tent seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

“Is the queen hurt?” one of them demanded, shoving her almost roughly aside and moving closer to the queen and Olyvar. Olyvar raised his head at the question, seeing Jeyne stood there as he did so, any number of emotions crossing his face, none of which were welcoming. “Can you help her?” he asked, eyeing the bandages in her hands that she hadn’t left scattered across the campsite on her way here. “And you,” he addressed one of the Northmen; “get the King.”

He didn’t need telling twice, nodding briskly before making his way out of the tent. “Where is her Grace hurt?” Jeyne asked shakily, moving a few steps closer and sinking down to her knees at Olyvar’s side. “Her head,” Olyvar told her, his hand coming up to brush away some of her hair so Jeyne could see where she was bleeding. “There doesn’t look to be much blood,” Jeyne said, fumbling with one of the compresses in her hand and hesitantly pressing it to the queen’s head. She seemed to be calming now, her sobs giving way to slight hiccoughs every now and again but she did not relinquish the tight hold she had on her brother.

“And her arm,” Olyvar said as Jeyne applied a little pressure to the compress on her head. “Hold that in place for me,” Jeyne said to him and he nodded, shifting the hand he had used to pull back her hair and placing it over the compress. “May I see your arm, my queen?” Jeyne asked then and she blinked at her, another tear sliding down her cheeks as she contemplated her for a long moment. Finally, hesitantly she slipped her right arm away from Olyvar and offered it out to Jeyne.

“It doesn’t look too deep,” Jeyne assessed after a moment, gingerly moving the torn material of the queen’s dress away from her wound. “I will make sure it is well cleaned and bandaged if you would allow me, but I need some boiling water,” Jeyne turned to the second man who was hovering worriedly near the tent entrance; “would you fetch some for me? And if you would go to the Maester and have him give you some milk of the poppy, her Grace may well be grateful for it.”

He agreed, looking thoroughly grateful to be allowed to leave the bloody scene behind him. “Is your vision alright my queen?” Jeyne asked, shifting her attention back to the injured woman who nodded slightly. “And do you feel sick at all?” she persisted. This time Roslin shook her head and Jeyne took a breath of relief. “Good,” she said, “that is a good sign…perhaps it would be best if you moved her to the bed?” she addressed Olyvar who nodded; “I would be better placed to see to her injuries there.”

Olyvar shifted then, making to help his sister up to her feet but he froze as the entrance was ripped open to reveal Robb. For a second he seemed to freeze and Jeyne swallowed hard, seeing his eyes span a thousand emotions all at once before he crossed to his wife in a few large strides and dropped down at her side. The queen reached for him, finally letting Olyvar go and allowing herself to be enveloped in her husband’s arms. Robb shifted his arms about her, slipping his own hand onto the compress on her head and nodding slightly to Olyvar.

“Lady Jeyne asked that she be moved to the bed, so she can better tend to her,” Olyvar told him quietly and Robb nodded, shifting up and lifting his wife easily. He carried her to the bed and lay her gently down, Olyvar darting with him to rearrange the pillows so the queen could be propped up against them. Robb moved back when she was settled but her hand snatched out to him at once, curling around his wrist. “I’m not going anywhere,” he soothed her, his fingers lacing with hers tightly. “Olyvar would you gather the lords, and would you see to it that that waste of life is removed from my queen’s presence?” Robb practically snarled the instruction to have the body removed and even Olyvar flinched slightly.

“Yes your Grace, I will see to it at once,” Olyvar said, and Robb nodded, murmuring his thanks before his attention was fixed exclusively on his wife again. Jeyne moved a few steps closer to the bed, unsure if she should say anything. She was grateful for the man who returned with the boiling water and the milk of the poppy in the next moment, directing him to place them on the bedside table. “May I?” she met Robb’s eyes and he looked between her and his queen for a moment before he nodded his head. Jeyne moved to peel away the compress on the queen’s head first, her fingers brushing against Robb’s slightly as she did so.

She tried not to think about how long it had been since she had felt the warmth of his touch, forcing her mind to concentrate on treating the queen. Carefully she dipped the compress in the steaming water before moving it back to her head. The queen flinched slightly and Jeyne murmured her apology as she gently dabbed at the wound. Thankfully it seemed as though her initial thought had been right, once the blood was gently cleansed away there was barely anything to the wound. “There doesn’t seem to be too much damage,” Jeyne said, “you may get headaches for a few days my queen, and there may be quite a lump for a while but I’m sure you will recover swiftly. If you do feel sick or dizzy though I must urge you to call for the Maester at once.”

“We will,” Robb said rather stiffly and Jeyne met his eyes for a fleeting moment before his own flickered back to his wife. “Now then,” Jeyne took a deep breath, “may I see your arm again?” The queen stretched her arm out less hesitantly this time and Jeyne again pushed back the torn material, seeing that the blood had stopped seeking from the wound and clotted around it. “I need you to remove your dress my queen, if I am to bandage this,” Jeyne said and she nodded faintly, looking towards Robb who moved to help her at once.

He was ever so gentle as he pulled on the ties and carefully unhooked the fiddly little clasps of her bodice, easing it away from her and slowly peeling the dress down her arms. She winced as he pulled it down over her wound and he was murmuring his apology and pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. The sight made Jeyne want to weep but she swallowed hard and determined to ignore it as Robb settled the upper part of his wife’s dress about her waist before taking her hand again. Jeyne shifted her focus to the queen’s arm then, gently cleaning away the dried blood, the wound seeping a little as she did so.

Thankfully it was not too deep and when it was thoroughly cleaned she patted it gently dry. “There are some fresh bandages on the table your Grace, if you would?” Jeyne looked up to meet Robb’s eyes as she continued patting down the queen’s arm. He nodded briefly before moving away and Jeyne could see the fleeting panic in the queen’s eyes as he did so. When he returned seconds later with the bandages his wife grabbed at him at once, his presence seemingly the only thing that could calm her at this moment. Jeyne carefully unwound the bandage and wrapped it securely around the queen’s arm, tying it securely at the ends before turning to pick up the bottle of milk of the poppy.

Jeyne moved away, towards the side table where the cups were resting so she could pour a dose for the injured queen. She also needed a minute away from the tender affection that was clearly between Robb and his wife. It was too much. His gaze had barely registered her, his concern and his focus had all been on his queen. _As it should be,_ the voice in her head reminded her. It didn’t make it hurt any less though. Seeing them like that… She took a deep breath and un-stoppered the bottle, pouring enough into an empty cup to soothe the queen’s aches and send her into a peaceful sleep.

She held the cup out to Robb as she approached the bed again and he took it from her with a strained smile. “Thank you,” he said meaningfully and she nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak as her eyes began to sting. “The queen ought to drink it soon, and remain rested for a few days at least,” Jeyne advised him, “I will clear everything away, and leave you in peace. You know where the Maester is should you have need.” Robb nodded his head at that and she inclined her own to him, her eyes resting on the queen for a moment before she began gathering up the bandages and the bowl of water.

Several men entered as she made to leave and she knew they were there to remove the body of the queen’s attacker. Robb murmured some instruction to them that she barely heard as she skirted her way towards the entrance of the tent. When she pulled back the canvas she made the mistake of looking back. She looked back to see him set aside the empty cup and pull his wife into his strong arms. She made the mistake of lingering just long enough to see him cradling her tenderly and pressing a loving kiss to her forehead. She walked away, she had already lingered for far too long.

* * *

Robb unwillingly left Roslin under the careful watch of his mother and Olyvar once she had fallen into a deep sleep. Every inch of him wanted to stay with her, to keep her wrapped in his arms and safe in his embrace but he had to see the lords. It had to be seen to that this could never happen again, that worse could never happen to her. He strode across the camp, a dozen heavily armed men stood primed and ready outside his wife’s tent should anyone think to harm her again. No one would ever hurt her again, he determined that.

“Your Grace! How is the queen?” the Greatjon asked him as soon as he stamped into the council tent, his eyes full of concern. “She is resting, she will remain bedbound for the next few days but she will be perfectly fine,” Robb reported and those gathered looked relieved. “I am delighted to hear it your Grace,” Maege Mormont said and Robb thanked her gratefully. “We need to ensure that nothing like this ever happens again,” Robb said, his eyes scanning each of his lords in turn; “I want a Queensguard formed, a dozen of the most highly trained and skilled men we have.”

“It will be done your Grace,” the Greatjon said at once, inclining his head. “I want the best,” Robb said fixing his gaze on all of them again; “I want my queen to feel safe and secure at all times, and I want those Lannisters to know that if they ever dare send someone to harm her again that they will be ripped into a thousand pieces,” he snarled and his lords all nodded and voiced their agreement.

“We will get the best for you,” his uncle Edmure said, “the best for the queen.” Robb nodded, finally somewhat placated and satisfied that they understood his need to have the very best they could muster for her. “Good,” he said, “I expect this done swiftly my lords, and that my queen never be left unprotected again. Now…if you will excuse me, I would return to my wife.”

No one spoke up to stop him from leaving as he turned and stamped his way back out into the campsite, crossing it swiftly and making his way back into Roslin’s tent, the guards surrounding it all inclining their heads to him. “Is everything alright?” his mother asked from the table when he entered, her eyes full of concern. “Everything is under control,” he said, his eyes flickering to the bed where Roslin was still sleeping; “is she alright?”

“Asleep the whole time,” his mother told him, Olyvar nodding his agreement from where he sat opposite her. “Thank you for staying with her,” Robb said gratefully and they both nodded, rising up from their chairs and moving to leave. “I will come and see her tomorrow, if I may?” Olyvar said as he drew level with Robb. “Yes, of course,” Robb nodded his agreement and Olyvar bowed shortly before he made his way out of the tent. “If you have need of me, you know where I am,” his mother said, squeezing his forearm tightly before she too made her way out of the tent.

Robb took a deep, calming breath once he was left alone with his wife, his eyes lingering for a moment on the spot where her attacker’s body had lain. The men had cleaned up well but Robb could still see it all too clearly in his mind. He closed his eye and ran his hands over his face. If it weren’t for the fact that his own tent had been cleared out to make way for the injured men then he would have moved him and Roslin there instead. As it was this would have to be endured. He moved his hands to unfasten his doublet, shrugging out of it and easing his feet from his boots before he made his way to the bed, already knowing that he would get no sleep. He shifted the covers and furs back and climbed in next to his wife. She stirred slightly as he pressed against her, shifting slightly so she was snuggled further against him as he wrapped his arms tightly around her and determined to never let her go.

 


	18. XVIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos guys, much appreciated!
> 
> Joysnow, thank you - don't worry I wasn't going to, I'm not quite that mean!
> 
> :)

* * *

Roslin’s head ached as she groaned awake, Robb’s arms tightening around her as she blinked his concerned face into focus. “Are you alright?” he asked her, his eyes tired but wide as he gazed down on her. “My head hurts,” she mumbled and he moved closer to press a kiss to her forehead. “It is to be expected,” he murmured against her skin, “perhaps another small dose of milk of the poppy will ease it for you?” She nodded her agreement and he made to move away but she pulled him back, unwilling to let him go. “I thought you wanted some?” he frowned at her and she shook her head slightly.

“Not yet,” she said quietly, her voice slightly hoarse, “I don’t want to be away from you yet.” If he thought her silly then he said nothing, relaxing back down against her and holding her safely against his chest. She breathed him in, memorizing the comforting scent and the steady beat of his heart as she lay against him. “I thought I’d never feel you again,” she whispered, his arms tightening around her waist at her words. “This should never have happened to you,” he said in a low, dark voice; “and I swear to you now, on my life, that it will never happen again.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Roslin assured him, hearing his tone of voice and knowing that he was blaming himself. She had seen his tired eyes, the dark circles underneath them that told her that he had not slept a wink. “I’m having a Queensguard formed for you,” he breathed against the top of her head and she frowned slightly, lifting her head up from his chest so she could meet his eyes. “I told you I would never let this happen again,” he continued before she could comment; “my lords are gathering their best men and I will not rest easy until they are in place.”

“Your best men should be fighting for you, not keeping watch over me,” she said softly, running her hand down his cheek and hearing him exhale deeply at her touch. “You will not change my mind,” he said quietly but firmly; “and besides, there will be no more fighting unless the Lannisters decide to meet us head on, which I doubt they will given we now control Lannisport and have the majority of their fleet.”

“When will you move to lay siege to the Rock?” she asked him, knowing it would do no good to argue with him about the Queensguard. “When you are recovered,” he said and she frowned slightly. “I thought you wanted to do it as soon as possible, you cannot tarry just because I’ve bumped my head,” she told him and he smiled slightly.

“I have injured men to be concerned with as well,” he said, “we would not be moving for a few days either way so do not trouble yourself with this.” Roslin looked at him searchingly for a moment, watching his eyes for a hint of a lie but seeing none. She sighed in defeat then and shifted slightly further up his chest so she could lean down and press her lips to his for a long moment. “Olyvar said he would come and see you today,” Robb told her when she pulled back; “when he comes I will have to leave you with him a while, there is much to see to…and I want to know how your guard is coming along.”

“Very well,” she said grumpily, “must I stay in bed?” she asked and she knew at once from the expression on his face what his answer would be. “Yes you must,” he said firmly, “and don’t even think about getting up without help. You will stay rested and do as you are told until I am satisfied that you are fully recovered.”

“I didn’t realise that you were a Maester dear husband, have you been keeping such skills from me?” she teased him and he narrowed his eyes at her slightly. “I think you’re getting better already,” he said with a roll of his eyes, shifting her gently from his chest so he could slide out of bed. “Just indulge me,” he said, his eyes almost pleading as he looked down on her; “drink your milk of the poppy and try not to complain too much.”

She smiled slightly, shifting herself up against the pillows and watching him as he poured a small dose into a cup for her before filling another with water and coming back towards her. He handed her the milk of the poppy first and she sighed heavily before drinking it down. Gods it was unpleasant, making her shudder slightly as she swallowed it all. Robb handed her the water at once, taking the empty cup from her and watching in concern as she sipped down half of the water to rid herself of the taste. “I’m fine,” she assured him, “it just tastes awful that’s all.”

“Your Grace?” Olyvar’s voice came from the other side of the canvas before Robb had the chance to say anything else and he turned his head away from her to call for her brother to come in. He did after a moment, his eyes relieved as a smile lit up his face on seeing her. “How are you?” he asked her as he approached the other side of the bed. “A bit of a headache but I’m fine,” she smiled back at him, reaching out to squeeze his hand for a moment before she looked back at Robb. “Do you need to leave now?” she asked him.

“I’ll not be long,” Robb said in response; “don’t let her bully you,” he directed towards Olyvar who grinned as Roslin rolled her eyes. “I’ll have them send you breakfast on my way out,” Robb went on, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to her lips before he pulled back, a slightly regretful look in his eyes. “Thank you,” she said warmly, holding his gaze for a moment and willing him silently to stop blaming himself. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, rising up from the bed, “I promise.”

* * *

Robb eyed the men in front of them, walking down the line and listening to the introductions whilst sizing them up in his head. He checked each of their sigils as he walked passed, noting that over half of them were Northmen, with one Frey and three others from other houses located in the Riverlands. When he reached the end of the line he looked to his uncle Edmure expectantly as he gestured to the man on the end. “Ser Damon Paege,” Edmure introduced him, “I have appointed him head of the Queensguard.”

“Ser,” Robb inclined his head to him, looking him over and noting his size. He was slightly taller than Robb and just as well-built. He seemed poised, and was certainly young enough to be able to move well but not too young as to be considered green. “Your Grace,” Ser Damon inclined his own head in response. “Ser Damon is the younger brother of my close companion, Ser Robert Paege,” Edmure went on; “they have long been loyal banners to house Tully, and so to you.”

“Of course,” Robb said, smiling slightly between the two of them before his eyes flickered towards the tent he had left Roslin in. “It is an honour to be chosen to lead the Queensguard, and I shall protect queen Roslin with my life, as will those I command,” Ser Damon said and Robb nodded again, moving his attention back to the man in front of him. “I will introduce you to the queen when she is fully recovered,” Robb told him, “I would have your men relieve the guards stood by her. I expect there to be at least four of you on guard at all times and any suspicions reported to myself or my lords. As for yourself Ser, I expect that you be in sight of the queen at all times when she is not with myself or her brother.”

“Of course your Grace, I am happy to comply with whatever you wish,” Ser Damon inclined his head, “should you give me leave I shall organise my men at once.” Robb glanced down the line again, memorizing the faces, making sure he knew exactly who would be guarding his wife. “Of course,” he finally said, “go ahead.” Ser Damon bowed, as did the other eleven men under his command before they made their way to Roslin’s tent. Robb watched them, his eyes slightly narrowed as the other guards were dismissed, before he turned his attention to Edmure. “Do you trust him?” he asked.

“With my life,” Edmure said simply, his eyes honest and true and Robb was finally satisfied. “And the others?” he continued and Edmure nodded his head. “Those I know personally I trust implicitly, as for the others, they come from the northern armies and your lords have vouched for them. I trust them as you do,” Edmure said and Robb let out a deep breath.

“Thank you uncle,” he said after a moment, “I shall trouble you no longer.” Edmure inclined his head to him and Robb did the same before he walked away. He knew he ought to probably stay away, that it would be easier for both of them if he did, but he needed to thank Jeyne properly for tending to Roslin. She didn’t have to do it, she could have refused and made his wife wait for the Maester. Likely that would have been easier for her but, Robb reminded himself, Jeyne rarely did the easy thing in life. When he reached the tent that had been his he pulled the canvas aside, pleased to see that she was in there alone amongst the injured men. Likely the Maester was elsewhere, likely tending to the men in his own vast tent.

“Your Grace,” Jeyne noticed him as she turned from checking on one of the injured men, dropping into a short curtsey at once. “My lady,” he bowed his head to her, trying to get some moisture into his mouth as he searched his mind for the right words to say to her. “How are they?” he asked after a painfully long silence, glancing around at the injured men. “Healing,” Jeyne said with a small smile; “if the Gods are good I have hopes that they will all be spared.”

“Praise be,” one of the men muttered and Robb couldn’t help but smile wryly in his direction. “I am thankful to each and every one of you for your service,” Robb said meaningfully, looking around the injured men and meeting the eyes of those who were awake to hear him. Some of them managed smiles for him, some of which looked more like grimaces; or groaned their appreciation of his words. “And thank you, my lady,” Robb met Jeyne’s eyes, “for tending to these brave souls and for caring for my queen when she had need of you.”

“I was merely doing my duty your Grace,” Jeyne said quietly, her eyes dropping away from his after a moment and he swallowed hard. “The Gods bless queen Roslin,” one of the men groaned out then and Robb inclined his head towards him and sent him a smile. “And the Gods bless you,” he said, “I will tell the queen of your kind words, they will doubtless cheer her.”

“The Gods keep you both your Grace,” the man rasped and Robb nodded to him again before moving his eyes back to Jeyne. It was clear from her stance that she would prefer it that he leave and so he inclined his head once more to her before backing away. “Thank you again my lady,” he said before he pulled back the flap of the tent and made his way back out into the campsite. He saw his mother watching from the other side, her keen eyes fixed on him and he sighed heavily. The last thing he needed was her reading things that were not there. He shook his head slightly at her and hoped she would understand the gesture before he made his way back to Roslin.

She was playing cards with Olyvar when he re-entered the tent and he sent a smile to her at once, seeing the light blush of colour back in her cheeks. Her eyes were sparkling and happy and he was pleased to see how well she looked. It was more than just her injuries that he had been concerned about as she had been unable to utter a word for a long time after her attack. Likely it had just been the shock of it all as she seemed perfectly at ease now as she spent time with her brother. “How comes my Queensguard?” she asked him teasingly and he rolled his eyes at her.

“All in place,” Robb told her, “I shall introduce you to the captain when you are back on your feet. He will be in your presence whenever I or Olyvar cannot be.” It was Roslin’s turn to roll her eyes then but he would not back down, whatever argument she came up with. “Am I not allowed a moment alone anymore?” she asked him slightly irritably and he sighed heavily. “I know you like your privacy,” he said, “and I will grant you what I can but I cannot risk you being hurt again Roslin. It won’t always be like this…I promise you, but for now…would you please respect my decision?”

“Very well,” she said after a long time of looking at him, “if it will put your mind at rest and allow you to relax then I will endure it.” Robb smiled gratefully at her then and thanked her meaningfully before stepping towards the bed. Olyvar shifted himself as Robb approached, gathering his cards up and handing them to Roslin. “You don’t have to go on my account,” Robb said at once, “finish your game.”

“It’s fine your Grace,” Olyvar smiled, standing up from where he had been sat; “she will only beat me again anyway and I have had enough humiliation for one day.” Roslin poked her tongue out at her brother at that and Robb smiled at the childishness of it. Gods he missed that with his own siblings. Olyvar merely chuckled, bending down to kiss her cheek and squeeze her shoulder lightly, inclining his head to Robb before he made to leave; “I’ll come and see you soon,” he said just before he made his way out and Roslin nodded towards him.

When the canvas dropped back into place behind Olyvar Roslin stretched her hand out to Robb and he took it, inching closer to her and leaning in to peck her lips. “I’m bored,” she told him grumpily and he smiled, shifting even closer and laying his head down against her chest. “Then I will be bored with you,” he told her, nuzzling against her softness and hearing her sigh happily as she moved her hands up to twist his curls around her fingers. “Will you let me up tomorrow?” she asked him softly, “I’m feeling perfectly well and I promise you I won’t do anything strenuous…” her voice was almost longing as she tailed off and he sighed heavily in defeat, knowing he wouldn’t be able to deny her, especially if he looked up into those eyes.

“If you still feel well in the morning then fine, but if I catch you over-exerting yourself then you will be right back in this bed,” he growled at her and he could practically feel her triumphant smile in the way she wrapped her fingers more firmly around his hair. “Come here,” she tugged lightly and he lifted his head, seeing the look in her eyes and knowing what she wanted from him. “I think that may count as over-exertion,” he told her, lust lacing his own voice now as he inched closer to hers. “Not if you’re gentle with me,” she persuaded him, biting gently down on her bottom lip and blinking slowly at him. “You are a temptress Roslin Stark,” he whispered before he captured her lips in a slow kiss for a long moment before pulling back slightly; “but I suppose this will keep you in bed…”

* * *

Catelyn caught sight of Jeyne crossing the camp back towards her own tent and hurried after her, calling out her name. She seemed to hesitate slightly before she fully halted and turned, looking towards Catelyn expectantly as she approached. “My lady, can I help you with something?” Jeyne asked her politely and Catelyn scanned her face, looking for any trace of guilt. “Robb came to see you before,” she stated, thankful that no blush nor shame crossed Jeyne’s features. “He came to thank me for tending to the queen, it was entirely innocent my lady, I assure you of that,” Jeyne said.

“Good,” Catelyn said, more relieved than she had expected to be. She felt guilty herself for that. Did she really think that little of her son that she would think him capable of betraying his wife while she was laying in her sick bed? “Believe me my lady, I think the queen is more than enough for his Grace,” Jeyne said almost bitterly, “now if you will excuse me…” she didn’t wait for Catelyn to say anything else, picking her skirts up in a furious manner before she marched over towards her own tent and left the older woman feeling even more guilt.

Catelyn bit down on her lip as Jeyne disappeared into her tent, her eyes roving towards where Robb and Roslin resided and wondering if she should go and pay them a visit and see how her good-daughter was faring. Roslin had been in such a state the night before and Catelyn could hardly blame her after what had happened, she remembered being in a similar frame of mind after confronting Bran’s would-be killer. She had never thought she would be grateful that Ned had allowed the children to bring back those direwolves, but now… First Bran and now Roslin…she would never complain about those ferocious beasts again as long as she drew breath.

She took a few steps towards Robb and Roslin’s tent then but was stopped in her tracks by Edmure hailing her and so she halted and turned to smile at him. Clearly it wasn’t a very convincing smile as he frowned at her at once. “Wine,” he said simply, “come on, you can tell me all about it.” She must look a state if even Edmure could sense that there was something wrong with her, her brother had never been what could be described as sensitive. In fact, on occasion he was the complete opposite. Likely Alys was good for him as Catelyn had suspected she would be and so she placed her hand on her brother’s arm and allowed him to steer her back towards her own tent.

“You look as though guilt could eat you from the inside out,” Edmure told her when they entered her tent and she sighed. “You have that look about you that you always had when you were caught stealing lemon cakes…only worse,” he continued on and she couldn’t help but smile wryly at that as Edmure crossed to her side table and began to pour them some wine. “I have to confess I thought you would be happier given the news about your boys,” he raised his brows as he handed a cup to her; “I know what happened to the queen has shaken us all but she will make a full recovery.”

“I know she will,” Catelyn finally spoke, “and of course I am pleased about my boys, how could I not be?” she paused, taking a long sip of wine before she looked back at her brother who had settled down opposite her and was now eyeing her suspiciously. “What do you have to feel guilty about?” he asked her quietly and she took a shaking breath before deciding to be completely honest with him. “I just insinuated that something is still going on between Robb and Jeyne,” she told him, “I actually imagined my son to be capable of betraying his wife whilst she is confined to her sick bed.”

“Oh Cat,” Edmure sighed heavily and she wanted to cringe away from him as he bestowed a look on her that would have made their father proud. “I know,” she nodded, “you don’t need to tell me…it’s just any time I see them around one another I remember how it was. I remember how he cared nothing for Roslin and how he would have been happier to break his betrothal and marry Jeyne – damn the consequences.”

“But he didn’t do that,” Edmure reminded her gently; “he kept his promise. He married his Frey girl, and Gods Cat…if you had heard the way he spoke about her, how he spoke to the lords about her. He might deny it outright if you asked him but he is falling in love with that girl, even if he doesn’t even realise it yet.”

“Since when did you grow so wise in matters of love?” Catelyn asked him, unable to help the amused smile that came to play about her lips. “Perhaps my own marriage has made me rethink a few matters,” he told her and her brows raised slightly. “Alys…do you…?” she tailed off and he smiled slightly, swilling his wine about in his cup for a long moment. “I certainly care about her very much,” he said after a time, meeting her eyes again; “I never imagined I would be able to be faithful to anyone Cat…but I honestly have no desire for anyone else. I don’t know if that will last forever but…I certainly hope that it will.”

“I’m proud of you Edmure,” she told him meaningfully, “and our mother and father would be proud of you too, if they could be here to see this.” Edmure said nothing, nodding slightly and smiling for her before he reached out and took her hand. She squeezed tightly and he returned the pressure, neither of them seeming able to speak as they were both rather caught up in their own emotions.

* * *

“Three silver stags, will you scream for that?!” one man crowed to her as she walked towards the kitchen area. “A cunt kissed by a king is worth at least five!” another called out and his companions fell into a fit of laughter. “If you rub it hard I hear it brings good luck!” another shouted out between guffaws and Jeyne determined to ignore them, somehow managing to look the serving girl in the eye as she ladled her out a portion of dinner. “Thank you,” she said politely to the girl when she took her plate, ignoring yet another proposition from the men out by the bonfire. They seemed to be growing bolder, no doubt because it was clear to everyone that Robb was besotted with his queen and rid of any affection he may have once held for her.

Jeyne was now at the mercy of these taunts every time she stepped foot outside her tent. The only time she got respite was when she was with the injured men she tended, they at least treated her with something almost like respect. They were grateful to her at least. Part of her wanted to flee back to her tent with her dinner but the other part was unwilling to give in to their jeers and so she sat herself down near the kitchen area on a hay bale and began on her dinner. “I have some meat you can wrap your pretty mouth around my lady!” She gave no flicker that she had even heard the man, one of the kitchen maids catching her eye and smiling sympathetically at her.

Jeyne didn’t need her sympathy, but she supposed she ought to be grateful for it and so she returned the smile when she had swallowed down her mouthful. The jeers and the taunts continued as she ate but she determined to ignore their filth, allowing their dirty words to skim over her. She would not show weakness, not to men like that. When she finished she returned her plate to the kitchen girls and thanked them before walking determinedly away. “You know, it’s rude to ignore a man who is talking to you!” one of the men blocked her path and she made to side-step him but he grabbed at her waist. “Three stags my lady, you cannot say fairer than that…not for soiled goods…”

She shoved him hard at that and he staggered backwards, his companions crowing at him. “Never touch me again,” she said venomously before she made determinedly away from him. He caught hold of her wrist and tugged her backwards, the action enough to make her lift her other hand up and slap him hard across the face. “Unhand me,” she said unflinchingly as his grip around her wrist tightened, his eyes blazing with fury and underlying embarrassment. “You heard the lady,” another man said and the man holding her took one look at him and instantly let go of her wrist. “Thank you,” she said to the second man, inclining her head to him before she turned to get on her way again.

“A moment my lady,” he caught up to her but she didn’t stop in her strides until she reached her tent, turning and seeing him behind her when she did so. “Can I help you?” she asked him expectantly and he smiled slightly. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” he said and she resisted the urge to laugh. “Believe me, it takes a lot more than a pig like that to hurt me,” she told him and his own lips tugged up slightly wryly. “Yes,” he said softly, “I imagine the King has inflicted far worse.” Her eyes flashed at that and he seemed to sense her anger, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Forgive me my lady…I didn’t mean -,” he started.

“I know what you meant!” she shot at him, “You are no different from any of them. You might not shout vile things and proposition me at every turn but you see me as a whore just as they do. At least they have the decency to be honest about it instead of hiding behind false concern and kindness. Do me a favour and stay away from me…and don’t ever speak ill of the King again in my presence.” With that she turned and marched into her tent before he could even think of a reply, her hands shaking with anger as she put them up to her mouth and tried her best to stifle the sobs that were beginning to rise up in her throat.


	19. XIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos! Over 100 now, thanks so much!
> 
> :)

* * *

“Roslin, this is Ser Damon Paege, the head of your Queensguard. Ser Damon, this is my queen,” Robb gestured to her, and she placed her hand in his and allowed him to place it in the one Ser Damon extended to her. “My queen,” he bowed lowly before pressing a light kiss to the back of her hand and straightening up again; “it is an honour to protect and serve you.” Roslin only wanted to blush at that and she slid her eyes to Robb for a moment before she bestowed a smile on Ser Damon. “Thank you, I am lucky to have such a skilled knight ensuring my protection,” she said.

“Well,” Robb clapped his hands together, “now you are acquainted I must leave you, the lords are expecting me. You ought to gather your things,” he went on, his eyes meeting Roslin’s, “I imagine we will be leaving on the morrow.” Roslin nodded, sliding her hand away from Ser Damon and turning to Robb. He took both of her hands in his as she moved, leaning in and pressing a tender kiss to her lips before he pulled away, smiling at her once more and squeezing her hands lightly before he made his way out of the tent.

Roslin stared at the place he had just disappeared from before she turned her attention to her guard and offered him a slightly embarrassed smile. She had no idea what to do with herself, anything she did on her own now seemed rather unappealing since she had an audience. Besides, sitting herself in a corner with her drawings or her needlework seemed like such a rude thing to do. She crossed to the side table and drummed her fingertips against the rim of the wine flagon. “Wine?” she asked her guard but he shook his head. “I ought not to when I am supposed to be guarding you my queen,” he said by way of explanation and she nodded her understanding.

“I hope you will not think ill of me for indulging so early,” she said, pouring herself a cup; “the last few days have been rather nerve-wracking…” He shook his head and smiled slightly as she turned back to face him. “That is perfectly understandable my queen, I would never think ill of you,” Ser Damon inclined his head to her and she smiled politely for him before taking a sip of her wine, her eyes darting about the tent for a moment, trying to think of something to do. “Do you play cards?” she asked him suddenly, catching sight of the deck that she and Olyvar had been playing with the other day.

“I have been known to indulge my queen,” Ser Damon said with a smile that told Roslin that he likely played far more often than she did. “Perhaps you could teach me something new,” she said, crossing over and picking up the deck; “the men seem to all play the same game, perhaps you could show me how to play that,” she held the cards out to him; “I am useless at shuffling.”

“Rule number one my queen, never trust a man to shuffle your cards, he will more than likely cheat,” he told her and she smiled widely. “You would cheat your queen?” she asked him with a teasing smile and he chuckled. “Never my queen, but others might,” he winked and she laughed, taking another sip of wine before she moved to seat herself down at the table. “Rule number two my queen,” he said, approaching the table and placing the deck down; “I must always sit facing the entrance of your tent.”

She rolled her eyes at that but got up out of her seat anyway and crossed to take the other one, Ser Damon moving to sit himself down and pick up the cards again. He shuffled them expertly and Roslin was even more certain that he was a seasoned gambler. In the next moment he confirmed it as he dealt out the cards, flashing her another grin; “rule number three my queen, never play with coin.”

* * *

When Robb returned from the lords it had already gone dark and he was surprised to find no lamps lit up his and Roslin’s tent. He frowned slightly as he approached and pulled back the flap of the tent to see it empty, immediately letting it drop and looking towards one of the two guards stationed on either side. He caught his eye and inclined his head over towards the bonfire. Robb looked in that direction at once, raising his brows slightly as he recognised Roslin’s tinkling laughter. Without pause he made his way over there, seeing her sat in a circle with Ser Damon and five other men, a cup of wine in one hand and a fan of cards in another.

“Your Grace,” the men were on their feet at once, Roslin’s eyes turning upwards to look at him, a smile on her face. “Ser Damon taught me a new game,” she said happily and he mustered a smile for her; “I’m getting rather good at it.” Robb couldn’t help but narrow his eyes slightly in Ser Damon’s direction but he said nothing as he crossed to his wife’s side, standing behind her stool and placing a protective hand on her shoulder. “Don’t stop on my account,” he addressed the men and they all seemed to shuffle nervously before moving back to their own places. “Perhaps you can be dealt in on the next round?” Roslin suggested, tilting her head up so she could look at him.

“Perhaps,” he agreed with a smile and her own mouth split into a beaming smile before she turned her attention back to her cards. They resumed their game and Robb watched carefully, soon recognising what they were playing, most of the men played it but he was glad to see that no coin seemed to have been laid down here. He encouraged Roslin up off her stool when she had played her card, taking her place before pulling her down onto his lap. Her chest was perfectly in line with his sight now and he trained his eyes on the way her exposed flesh rose and fell enticingly with every breath she took. “My queen?” Ser Damon was looking towards her expectably.

“Oh!” she sounded slightly surprised, “My turn again…” she tailed off, contemplating her cards, biting down on her bottom lip slightly as she considered which to play. Robb eyed her cards as well, his lips twitching slightly as he saw the hand she had been dealt. It was a good one, and he wondered if it had been dealt that way on purpose to indulge her. She picked her card then and placed it on the upturned box that was being used as a table. “Well played my queen,” one of the men commented and she seemed to glow at his praise. As irritated as Robb had been to find her here he was grudgingly happy that the company she was keeping was instilling some confidence in her.

Robb let his hand travel up the back of her dress as they continued with their game, carefully brushing her hair to one side so he could whisper his fingers along the exposed skin of her upper back. Gods she was so soft, he didn’t know how it was possible for anything to be so soft but she was, and he could not get enough of revelling in it. She squirmed slightly in his lap at his touch and he had to suppress a hiss as her movement excited him far more than he would have desired it to in the company of others. Roslin shifted again in the next moment, her dark eyes meeting his and he knew that she had felt his growing arousal, a wicked little smile coming to play about her lips. She circled her hips slightly against him as she leant forwards again to place another card on the box and he really did have to suppress a groan this time.

He wanted to drive her just as wild but he could think of no way to do it subtly. Somehow he imagined that their company might notice if he suddenly thrust his hand up her skirts. She pressed closer to him when she leaned back, her shoulder coming almost to his mouth and he allowed his lips to part, letting his breath touch her. He moved his lips closer, pressing them to the back of her shoulder blade and allowing his tongue to slowly caress her skin. She squirmed again and he knew that he was having an effect on her, his eyes seeing how the rise and fall of her chest increased ever so slightly. He let his teeth nip at her skin then and she breathed in rather sharply.

Robb was pleased to note that there was only one card left in her hand now and he was planning on scooping her up and dragging her into their tent as soon as she had played it. She placed it down triumphantly in the next minute and the men she was playing with all clapped their hands and offered their congratulations. She thanked them warmly and Robb drew back from her slightly. “We ought to retire,” he murmured in her ear and she bit down on her lower lip and nodded her head slightly. “Thank you gentlemen, for indulging me,” she smiled to her companions, “but I think it past time I retire for the night.”

She shifted off Robb’s lap then and he rose with her, keeping his hand firmly on her waist as the men bid her farewell. Her steps were purposeful as she led the way back to the tent and he could barely contain his excitement as she pulled the flap of the tent aside and stepped in. He wrenched it closed behind him, barely getting a second to blink before her arms were around his neck, dragging his lips down to hers. Her hands clenched in the curls at the nape of his neck before she slid them away, over his shoulders and down his chest, unfastening his doublet as she went. His own hands came to the laces at her back, tugging on them and pulling them almost roughly away in impatience.

When he stepped away to toss his doublet aside he broke the kiss and her breathing was as ragged as his as she allowed her own nimble fingers to undo her fiddly little clasps on her bodice. He eased his feet from his boots and kicked them away, his eyes still drawn to her as she slowly uncovered more of herself to him. Her eyes met his and he could do nothing but stare as she slid her dress from her shoulders and slipped her own shoes from her feet. She smiled at him, stepping back slightly so she was out of reach before she moved her hand up to play with the single thread of ribbon that was ensuring her shift stayed about her.

“Are you toying with me?” he asked her, his voice dripping with desire as he looked her up and down, seeing the playful smile on her lips. “You were toying with me,” she replied, “out there…and in front of the men as well…” she shook her head in mock disappointment and he took a step closer to her. “You started it,” he growled and she shook her head again, stepping back from him. “I think you’ll find you started it…with your looks and your possessive actions. Anyone would think you were jealous…” she arched her brow and he narrowed his eyes slightly at her. “What would I have to be jealous of?” he asked her, unable to stop the slight hint of warning in his tone.

“Absolutely nothing,” she said, looking him dead in the eye; “which is what makes you even more ridiculous.” Robb wasn’t sure he liked being called ridiculous but he did like it very much when she finally tugged on that thin piece of ribbon and sent her shift fluttering down about her ankles. She stepped out of it and towards him, his eyes looking her up and down as she came closer, her hands finding the hem of his tunic and tugging it upwards. “You know I would never compromise myself don’t you?” she whispered to him as it came up and over his head; “I would never undermine you or humiliate you like that…I was merely being friendly.”

“I know you were,” he breathed as her hands began to explore his bare chest; “because you’re a good woman and a good queen…I just wanted you to myself…is that so bad?” She placed a kiss to his chest, trailing her tongue along his skin before she pulled back and tilted her head up so she could meet his eyes. “And now you have me all to yourself,” she said quietly, her dark eyes almost black with lust as she looked up at him; “what would you do with me now?”

* * *

“Would you join us my lady?” one of the men called out; “We need one more to play…we have wine!” Jeyne looked him up and down, his suggestion seemed genuine and they were far too close to the queen’s tent to think about goading her, surely? Some wine and company might be just the thing she needed to pull her out of the dark mood that had engulfed her over the past days and weeks. Alys had tried to coax her into talking about it but Jeyne had no desire to, not even being able to find words that made sense to her, let alone anyone else. “Very well,” she said after another moment, crossing to them and taking the cup he held out for her with thanks before moving to the one empty stool around the box they were using as a table.

“Have you played before?” the man who was dealing asked her as she took a sip of her wine. “I used to play with my brother and his companions, that seems a long time ago now though so forgive me if I am a little rusty,” she smiled slightly wryly at him and he returned it. “Do not apologise for that my lady,” another said, “if you are rusty it only serves to work in our favour.” Jeyne turned her attention to him, his voice sounding rather familiar, and she recognised him in the darkness after a moment as the man who had come to her _rescue_ the day before. He looked rather sheepish when she fixed her gaze on him and she decided that she would give him the benefit of the doubt and not cause any fuss. Fuss was the last thing she needed to deal with. Cards and wine were about all she could concentrate on right now as she accepted her hand with thanks.

They were half way through the round when she first heard it and she brought her wine up to her lips and took a long sip on it, hoping it was her imagination. Either that, or someone else. Anyone else. From the way the men began to shift uncomfortably in their stools she knew that they too could hear the moans of their queen from the short distance away from her tent. Jeyne swallowed hard and stared so intensely at her hand of cards that she thought they might just burst into flame. The man she had encountered the previous day struck up rather loud conversation then and his companions joined in. Jeyne was ever so grateful to them for it but she was afraid that if she voiced it then she would burst into tears.

Instead she drank down her wine and played the game, the speed of it increasing, and she knew that the men were trying to get it completed more quickly, no doubt to give her a reason to flee. When she threw down her last card she was ready to jump up and run away as she could still hear the sounds of love-making coming from the queen’s tent. It was all too much to bear, imagining Robb being so intimate with her, eliciting moans from her and working to bring her pleasure the way he had always brought it to her. In her mind she could see it all too clearly, see him in the midst of his passion and his pleasure, groaning out his release against her neck and whispering to her that he loved her over and over again. Did he whisper that to the queen?

She couldn’t bear it, handing her empty wine cup to the man who had given her it in the first place and rising up to her feet. “Thank you for the game gentlemen, but I ought to retire if we are to leave in the morning,” she said, somehow managing to get her voice to come out evenly. They murmured their own goodnights and she mustered a smile for them before she picked up her skirts and somehow fought the urge to run, keeping her steps poised and even as she made her way back towards her own tent. “My lady!” one of the men had caught up with her and she turned her head to see it was the same man from yesterday who had fallen into step with her. “I am in no mood for confrontation, I would appreciate it if you just let me be,” she said evenly, quickening her pace.

“I wanted to apologise my lady, I was insensitive yesterday. I spoke without thinking. It is something I am prone to do I’m afraid, just ask my poor mother…” he smiled at her hopefully and she sighed heavily. “You are forgiven Ser, now please…I’d like to be left alone,” she said, quickening her pace ever more but he was so tall that his strides kept up with her easily. “You know it’s alright to admit that hearing that bothered you,” he said, raising his brow, “in fact…it would have been stranger had it not bothered you.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this,” Jeyne said, shaking her head as they came to a halt just outside her tent. “I’m sure you don’t,” he agreed, “but did you ever think that perhaps you _need_ to?” he raised his brows at her and she frowned at him. “Why do you even care?” she asked him incredulously and he shrugged. “Have you ever thought about the unfairness of it all?” he asked in return; “Have you ever thought how hypocritical it is for Septon’s to stand up and preach virtue to all the young maidens in his flock and yet spend half his life in a brothel? Have you ever thought it unfair that a man can fuck a hundred girls and no one bats an eyelid, and yet you share your bed with one man and those same whore-mongers think it fair to proposition you in such a vulgar way?”

“It is the way of the world,” Jeyne shrugged, “I am not saying I like it but I knew what I was doing when I let my innocence go. I knew what I was doing when I refused marriage and I am passed caring what those _men_ think of me.”

“But you still care about him, you still care what the King thinks?” he guessed and she averted her eyes, her hands coming to toy with her skirts. “I don’t want to talk about this…please,” she said pleadingly and his eyes softened as he looked at her for a long moment. “Promise me you are not going to go into that tent and brood over him all night, tormenting yourself over what could have been had you acted differently, had you said something differently,” he said, holding her gaze.

“I can’t promise you that,” she said, almost laughing at the way in which he had so astutely guessed exactly what she would spend her night doing. “Then you have to invite me in to share wine with you,” he said and she raised her brows; “come now, I cannot allow you to be miserable and drink on your own. I won’t push you to speak to me, we can sit in silence if you want…just stop trying to pretend you’re alright on your own when you clearly aren’t. Let someone in who won’t judge you for once. You can tell me anything you know, I wouldn’t be shocked…”

“Really?” Jeyne raised her brow and he grinned. “Really,” he confirmed with a wink; “for instance…is the King really that good or is the queen just trying to indulge him?” She couldn’t help the gasp and the spontaneous laughter that burst from her lips, her hand clasping to her mouth when she let it escape. “You are vulgar,” she stated her eyes wide as he chuckled at her. “Yes I am,” he almost sounded proud at the admission; “but here I think you are rather enjoying my vulgarity even if you will not admit it. Come now my lady, invite me in and pour me a drink, I swear now on my tattered honour that I will make no move to bed you. Unless of course you want me to…” he tailed off with another wink and Jeyne rolled her eyes, trying not to let her lips twitch up into the smile that was threatening.

“Very well, a drink, but just you keep your hands to yourself,” she told him as she moved to push open the flap of her tent. “I wouldn’t need my hands to make you come,” he told her in return and she shook her head incredulously as he followed her inside. “You can keep your entire anatomy to yourself, now do something useful and light the lamps,” she said to him as she skirted around the chairs and moved to the side table where the wine was resting. “As you wish my lady,” he said and she heard him moving around to do as she had bid him. “Call me Jeyne,” she said as she poured two cups, “and you, what am I to call you?”

“Damon,” he said, flashing her a smile as he lit the first of the lamps. “I would say it’s a pleasure, but I think I will reserve judgement on that one…” she arched a brow pointedly and he grinned at her, lighting the last of the lamps before he moved to take a seat opposite her. “Speaking of pleasure,” he said, raising his cup up to hers; “you never did answer my question about the King.” Jeyne tried not to smile but she couldn’t help herself as she knocked her cup lightly against his before taking a long drink, knowing there was a blush rising up on her cheeks. “Well, well, well,” Damon raised his brows and grinned wickedly at her; “lucky, lucky queen Roslin.”

 


	20. XX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for the kudos, it's very much appreciated. And thank you, Ayoh, for the comment!
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter!
> 
> :)

* * *

Robb surveyed the scene in front of him. The Rock. There was no sign of life along the ramparts but the Lannister lions were still fluttering high up in the breeze. What he wouldn’t give to have them replaced with his own direwolf. The men were still arranging themselves, the siege lines being set out of reach of the catapults. Robb had already sent word to Lord Karstark to have the Lannister ships, which were now under their control, manned and sailed close to the Rock’s own harbour to ward off any vessels trying to dock there. He was determined that all supplies were cut off although he thought it likely that they would have supplies to last them several months, if not more. He could be patient though, he would take his time and wait for the hunger and desperation to take over.

If the stewards left in charge did not see sense and open the gates then he imagined the starving smallfolk would be more than happy to rise up and ensure they were raised for him and his army. Some of the lords were still worried that Tywin could come down from the Capitol but Robb had scouts fanned out and he knew that they would be well warned should such a thing happen. Personally Robb imagined that Tywin would make no move towards the Rock unless it looked like the North were ready to take it. Even with the Tyrells at their back the Lannisters had been weakened by the events of the Blackwater. Stannis may have been defeated, but he had also seriously dented forces loyal to the Iron Throne.

“The lines are set lad,” the Greatjon murmured from his side and Robb turned to contemplate him, nodding his agreement after a moment. “Send word to those watching over the cliffs, I want to be informed at once when the ships are moved into place,” Robb said and it was the turn of the Greatjon to nod. “Without Tywin and Kevan I imagine this will be much easier, the smallfolk will crumble faster…panic faster,” the Greatjon said.

“Aye,” Robb agreed, squinting into the setting sun as he looked towards the Rock; “we can only hope so my lord. If you will excuse me,” he finished, clapping the Greatjon on the shoulder as he inclined his head politely towards him. Robb turned away then, intending to walk towards his and Roslin’s tent. His attention was caught by her guard stood out by the Maester’s tent though and he frowned, changing his course. It could well be that Roslin was with Olyvar and had dismissed Ser Damon, but at the same time it could well be that she was suffering after effects of her attack. His stomach clenched tightly at that, telling himself over and over that she would likely be perfectly fine.

As he determined to believe that she emerged from the tent, inclining her head to Ser Damon before making her way through camp with him trailing a few steps behind her, his hand always on the hilt of his sword. Robb called out to her as he came closer and her eyes moved to his. For a moment he thought he saw deep apprehension set in them but he dismissed it a second later as she smiled brightly at him. “Are you alright?” he asked as he came to a halt just in front of her, his eyes scanning her features; “I saw you leaving the Maester’s tent.”

“I just wanted to see how the injured men were, it cannot have been welcome for them to be moved so far,” she told him and he smiled widely. She was always so thoughtful, her mind seemingly always thinking of the wellbeing of others. Rarely did she put herself first, which was why Robb had been determining to make sure that he prioritized her happiness and wellbeing as much as he could when making further plans for the future of the war. Once or twice he had considered sending her back to Riverrun but various circumstances convinced him otherwise.

For one he would have to spare thousands to escort her there to make sure she would be perfectly safe. He also needed an heir, as his lords were always quick to remind him, and he would not get one of those with his wife leagues away from him. And most of all, he would miss her. Plain and simple. He would miss her at night, miss her during the day, miss her smile and the way her eyes would always shine a little brighter when they set on him, as though he had brightened her day merely by being in her presence. He longed to believe that that were true, because more and more he was realising that _she_ brightened his day merely by being part of it.

“That is so thoughtful of you,” he praised Roslin, snapping out of his increasingly confusing thoughts and smiling at her; “I trust they were well?” he raised his brows as he offered her his arm, her hand slipping into the crook of his elbow in the next moment. “The Maester is pleased with their progress, the journey here does not seem to have hampered their recovery too much,” Roslin reported to him and he nodded his head as they strolled towards their tent. “Good,” he said, his eyes slightly distracted by Jeyne speaking with Alys near one of the campfires. More and more he realised that he sometimes barely thought of her anymore. It still made him feel guilty to admit it, especially when he remembered the happiness they had shared.

It had been short-lived. Had always been destined to be short-lived, she herself had seen to that. Once upon a time he had been so frustrated, angry even, that she would not agree to become his wife. Now though… Now when he thought of Roslin, he no longer felt that little nag of resentment that she had not been his true choice. She was no longer the wife he had taken out of duty and been saddled with for the rest of his days. She was still the wife he had taken out of duty, but he did not feel burdened by her anymore. Roslin no longer felt like a weight around his neck, dragging him down away from his heart’s true desire. Roslin was a soft hand in his leading him slowly away from the cravings of his past and towards a future that was unknown and exciting.

When he was with her she consumed his thoughts, she seeped into every pore of him and drowned every pleasurable memory with Jeyne away. How easily she had done it. How quickly. How had she done that? When had she done that? Robb looked away from Jeyne and back to his wife, seeing that she was already looking towards him, a tiny smile tugging on her lips when she met his eyes. Was this real love? Was what he had had with Jeyne a mere imitation? A trick? How could he know? How could he tell the difference? He didn’t even know if he was ready for it but the thought had crossed his mind now and he knew he wouldn’t be able to ignore it forever. For now though it was easy to push the uncertainly away and just focus on what was right there in front of him. One day he would confront his confused feelings head-on, but it was not today.

* * *

Jeyne came and sat down at Catelyn’s side, making her jump as she had lost her thoughts whilst staring into the flames. She had been thinking of Rickon, of Bran, of this whole war and how badly she wanted it to be over. Robb was full of reassurances that it would be, that once he had taken the Rock Tywin Lannister would give him anything he asked for. The North. The girls. Catelyn was not as optimistic as he was but she determined not to bring her own negativity into his certainty. He smiled more often than not now; a certain combination of discovering that his brothers were still alive and the presence of Roslin in his life. They were rarely away from one another’s side, Robb had even taken to having her in council meetings with him and Catelyn knew that he had ordered a crown made for her. Bronze like his own but far more feminine and elegant, a gift for her coming name day or so he said. Catelyn knew he would have had it fashioned anyway, Edmure had been right in what he had told her – Robb was indeed falling in love with his wife.

Not that the woman who had just sat down at her side would appreciate knowing such a thing though. Catelyn turned to contemplate her, scanning her face and noting that she did not seem nearly as on edge as she had the last time they had had a conversation. Really Catelyn thought she ought to apologise for that, apologise for implying that anything had resumed between her and Robb. It had just been an instant assumption, and one she regretted now. Jeyne was a good woman, Catelyn knew that all she had to do was say the words and all between them would be forgiven and forgotten.

“He’s in love with her isn’t he?” Jeyne said quietly, her eyes dry and contemplative as she too stared into the flames. Catelyn nodded her head slowly, her own gaze continuously flickering back to check on Jeyne’s expression. “Not that he realises,” she said after a few moments and Jeyne smiled wryly. “Doubtless he would think it wrong, to have fallen for her so quickly when he claimed to be in love with me,” Jeyne said, a slight hint of bitterness seeking into her tone. “Jeyne I have no doubt at all that Robb believed himself to be in love with you,” Catelyn told her, meeting her eyes.

“But you think it was false?” Jeyne asked her, a look of calm acceptance about her that made Catelyn feel slightly less uneasy about uttering her next words. “When he met you he was injured and all alone. I had betrayed him, he was angry, bitter…you tended to him, you were kind to him and you were there when word came of Theon’s deception. You comforted him when he thought his brothers were dead, you brought him a shred of happiness in his darkest moments. You shared yourself with him willingly, brought him all the comfort and the warmth that he needed to get him through the days. You were the one light he had and he wanted to cling to you, make sure that light didn’t go out. He didn’t want the unknown Frey girl, he wanted the kind girl he knew, the girl he enjoyed being with,” Catelyn sighed as Jeyne began to slowly nod her head.

“He believed himself to be in love with you, was in turmoil over it and I know that had he married you that you would likely have been happy together for the rest of your days. But,” she took a deep breath, meeting Jeyne’s eyes; “he didn’t marry you. He married Roslin and she is no longer unknown to him, she is his wife. She is a good woman, a good queen, and Robb can see that. I know him well enough that he will feel guilt over you, likely for the rest of his days…but as cruel as this sounds Jeyne… I do not think his heart was ever truly yours, even if he imagined it was.”

“You always did speak so much sense to me…I should have listened back then, I should have asked him to find me a match from his men,” Jeyne was shaking her head, that wry little smile adorning her lips again. “It’s not too late,” Catelyn coaxed her but she snorted slightly, her head still shaking. “I can’t do it…go to him and ask him, no doubt in front of her…I just can’t do it Lady Stark. I may not have much left for me but I do have my pride, and even though I know I should just swallow it down and go to him I just _can’t._ He’ll know…he’ll know I still have feelings for him and he will look at me with pity and then _I_ will _know_ that there is not a scrap of him left for me,” Jeyne said.

“Then choose a man for yourself,” Catelyn said, “go ahead and find someone you can be happy with Jeyne. The Gods know not many women can choose their own futures. You cannot let what happened between you and Robb torture you forever. You are young and beautiful and you deserve better than life as a lady’s attendant. Don’t go to Robb until you are sure you have moved on from him. Go to him when you are certain you can look him in the eye and be happy for him and proud of yourself. Will you do that Jeyne? Will you promise me you will at least try?”

“I promise you,” Jeyne said quietly, her voice laced with determination; “I promise you I will try.”

* * *

Roslin lay securely wrapped up in Robb’s arms, his steady heartbeat in her ears for once failing to lull her into a peaceful sleep. She had lied to him before but she had panicked, not wanting to tell him out there in front of everyone. Then she had seen him, looking towards Jeyne, his eyes fixed on her for far longer than Roslin liked. No doubt he still had feelings for her, no doubt he would flee right back to her bed when she told him the truth about her visit to the Maester. Robb wasn’t stupid. He would work it out for himself eventually when their love-making continued without interruption. He hadn’t questioned her yet but he would, surely he would when he realised?

Her hand clenched automatically as she thought of him abandoning her bed when he became aware that his duty was done. Her nails pinched slightly into his chest and he inhaled sharply, the hand he had resting on the small of her back coming to rub soothingly up and down her spine. “I thought you’d be asleep,” he mumbled thickly and she swallowed hard, hoping her voice wouldn’t give her away. “Not yet,” she said simply and he let out a heavy sigh before arching his back slightly and tightening his hold on her. “What’s bothering you?” he asked and she was at once thrilled that he knew her well enough to know something was wrong, and panicked as to what to tell him.

“Nothing,” she said simply after a moment, feeling him turn his head to the side, his lips fluttering against her forehead when he spoke again; “Don’t give me that,” his voice was soft but insistent, his lips pressing a firm kiss to her forehead. “Have you…” she started, wondering how best to phrase it, not wanting to arouse his suspicions; “have you thought about what will happen if I find myself with child?”

“What do you mean?” he asked her and she could tell without looking that he was frowning. “I mean…we are in the middle of a war…” she tailed off as he sighed again, his arms wrapping even further about her, his kisses peppering across her hairline now. “You will be kept safe above all else,” he said fiercely, “don’t ever doubt that. I would have a thousand men guard you night and day if it is what it took to make you feel safe.”

“I do feel safe,” she assured him, snuggling further into his embrace; “I just can’t help but wonder how things will change…you know…when our duty is done…” She tailed off, holding her breath as she counted the beats of his heart under her ear. After twelve he moved, quickly but carefully flipping her over onto her back and looming above her so he could meet her eyes. “Duty?” he asked her, a frown creasing his brow and she nodded slightly.

“Once I’m with child…we won’t…you won’t have to…” she trailed off as his frown only deepened, his hand coming up to cup her cheek tenderly. “Roslin, do you think I am here with you right now out of duty?” he asked her seriously, his eyes wide and insistent in the near darkness that surrounded them. “I don’t know,” she shook her head, almost wanting to flinch away from the intensity of his gaze; “maybe…”

“How could you think that?” he whispered insistently, leaning in closer to her, his thumb brushing against her cheek. She could only shake her head, not sure what to say or what to do given his behaviour. He sounded almost angry with her and she wished she had kept her mouth shut and just gone to sleep. “I married you out of duty, yes,” he nodded, “just as you did me. But this… _this,_ ” he repeated fiercely; “this between us is real Roslin…isn’t it?” Suddenly he looked almost afraid and she cursed herself for being so clumsy with her words. He was doubting her now and that was the last thing she wanted, or needed. “Of course it is,” she breathed out, her own hand coming up to cup his cheek, his stubble rubbing against her as he nuzzled in an almost needy fashion against her touch; “I just…I just didn’t know if things would change…if you would send me away…”

“I would never send you away from me unless I thought you would be safer away from my side,” he promised her, meeting her eyes; “what has got you thinking like this?” His eyes were searching and insistent again and she swallowed hard. Part of her was aching to confess that she knew about Jeyne, to tell him how afraid she was that he would slip into her bed again when she grew big and undesirable with his child. With his child he didn’t even know existed. How could she keep this from him? How was it fair that she knew and he didn’t? She met his eyes. He would be thrilled. Wouldn’t he?

“The Maester,” she whispered, her mouth unbearably dry as she blinked up at him, that little frown creasing his brow again. “I didn’t see the Maester about the injured men…not only about them anyway,” she confessed, his frown deepening at her words but a look of realisation and something that looked like hope shining in his eyes. “Tell me,” he urged her, his other hand sliding up from her hip and coming to settle on her waist. He knew, she could see it shining from him that he knew, his expression almost childlike as he looked at her expectantly.

“A baby,” she managed to get the two words out before the elated expression on his face caused her emotions to spill from her, her vision clouded by the tears that had suddenly welled up in her eyes. “A baby?” his repetition of her own words were laced with joy and wonderment, his hand moving from her waist to her stomach as he almost laughed out in disbelief. “Gods a baby…a baby, Roslin are you sure?” he was almost longing now and she blinked rapidly, swallowing down the emotion as she nodded vigorously.

“I’m sure,” she got out just before his lips crashed into hers, his body kept carefully propped above hers instead of pressing down against her as he usually would. More than anything she wanted his to envelope her, to feel every inch of her pressed against his warm skin but she knew he was holding back because of what she had told him. Already he was trying to protect the tiny little life that they had created together and her heart felt so full she imagined that any more elation would shatter it into a million pieces. When he pulled away she wanted to pull him back but he was already moving, sliding down under the covers and furs until he could smother her stomach in kisses.

Again she wanted to cry as he murmured so many things, half of them that she could not make out, only a few words intelligible to her. “Roslin…my wife…my queen,” between kisses she heard the adoration and that alone was enough, knowing she had pleased him. “My baby,” he said fiercely, his hand caressing over her stomach which was still flat to the touch; “ _our_ baby,” he corrected himself, laying his head down against her stomach. She could feel his stubble scratching lightly against her skin every time she breathed in and out, the feeling oddly comforting and satisfying to her.

She let her own hands sneak down under the covers, one coming to stroke through his hair, twisting his curls around her fingers and revelling in the hot stream of breath that he exhaled against her skin in the next moment. Her other hand found his, the one that was resting against her stomach, laying it over his and feeling the warmth of his skin radiating onto his own. In the beginning she had never imagined this moment being like this. This moment belonged in the pages of those stupid stories that Arwyn had always been obsessed with; the one’s where the men were gallant and the women loved and honoured. Adored.

Did Robb adore her like that or was it just wishful thinking on her part? He was caught up in the moment, in the elation of discovering that he was to be a father. Would it really be fair to lay all her own feelings out to him now and expect him to relay his own back to her? He had said enough hadn’t he? Before… He had said enough… Roslin hadn’t though, in her mind she hadn’t said nearly enough and as she lay there, still twisting his curls around her fingers and caressing the back of his hand, she summoned up all her courage to voice what she had been repressing for so long. She thread her fingers through his and prayed hard before she opened her mouth.

“I love you,” she whispered, feeling his fingers twitch slightly around hers; “you don’t have to say it back. I don’t expect you to say it back…to feel the same for me. Not yet. Not ever maybe…but I wanted you to know, in case I never have the opportunity or the courage to say it to you again…” her voice was coming out stronger now as Robb’s fingers laced more firmly with her own, his breath even but slightly increased against her bare stomach. “I love you,” she said again, the words coming out with more conviction this time.

Robb turned his head after a long moment of silence in which Roslin had to remind herself to breathe on several occasions. He said nothing, he merely pressed a firm, lingering kiss to her stomach before moving his lips to press against the back of her hand. Once. Twice. Three times. His grip on her own hand tightening almost painfully before it slackened and he moved his head back down to settle against her stomach. She allowed her own hand to come back and settle in his hair, fiddling with his curls again and breathing more easily when he let out a contented sigh.

There was no declaration. No returning words of love. No words at all in fact. Not from him. Nor from her. There was a silence, a warm, comforting silence in which Roslin allowed herself to think of their future. Of their baby. In which she allowed her mind to run away with itself for a while, and in which she imagined Robb were doing the same. His deep, even breathing against her stomach finally drew her attention and she knew that he had fallen asleep. A smile twitched her lips as she stroked her hand gently through his curls. He may not have spoken up to return her feelings but he was still here with her, still laying close to her and at ease in her presence and Roslin was more than happy with that, her own eyes fluttering closed as sleep finally came to claim her.

 


	21. XXI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos! 
> 
> Hope everyone enjoys the new chapter!
> 
> :)

* * *

Robb woke to her soft skin rising and falling gently beneath his cheek, his hand still splayed out against her stomach and her words still echoed in his ears. He sighed heavily and wished he’d said something. Not that he loved her. It still felt too soon for that, but something… That he cared, that she made him happier that he ever imagined that she could. That the fact that she was carrying their baby made him prouder and more excited than he had words for. He ran his fingertips gently over her flat stomach and imagined how much she would change over the next months, how much he was looking forward to it. Watching her every day and just looking out for the first outward signs that she was indeed carrying their baby.

Right now it just didn’t seem real, that he could have all this right here under his touch. A wife. A child. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine they were back at Winterfell. He tried to imagine they weren’t laying on a makeshift bed surrounded by canvas with thousands of other tents just outside their thin walls. At this moment he didn’t want to be surrounded by tens of thousands of men laying siege to Casterly Rock, he wanted to be at home in his familiar room in his familiar bed, with his wife. He would shut the world out, let it just be them for just a few hours more. He could put off his duties just for a while and just lay there with her and wonder over her and the fact that she had their baby nurturing inside her. If only.

He sighed again, he knew he had to get up, to rise out of bed and dress himself and present himself before the lords so they could update him on progress. No doubt Lord Karstark had the ships moved into place by now and he was expecting a report on how things were faring in Lannisport. Regretfully he shifted his head up and moved carefully back up Roslin’s body, wary of pressing his own against hers lest he rouse her. She shifted a little in her sleep, her lips parting a tiny bit and a quiet murmur coming from her as he moved to her side and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Thankfully she stayed sleeping and he took a moment to gaze at her peaceful features before he got himself fully up and stretched his stiff body awake. He moved around the tent quietly, pulling new clothing from the chest they were using as a dresser and cladding himself in them.

Looking around he saw his scattered clothing from the night before and began gathering it up so he could have it taken by the washerwomen later. He gathered Roslin’s as well, tossing it all in a heap next to the tent entrance to be dealt with later. When he looked back towards the bed he saw she was still sleeping and he hesitated. If he left her now what would she think? Would she merely think he had left her to sleep so he could go and see his lords? That was the truth of it but likely she would think of it badly. He hadn’t left her bed before she had woken since the night they had first arrived at Oxcross, the memory of it making him cringe slightly. Would her mind automatically go back there? Would she imagine he had left her bed before she woke because he was scared of facing what she had said to him last night?

He couldn’t let her think that. Not now when he cared about her so much and when nothing else could be further from the truth. Hearing her say those words had been terrifying but thrilling in equal measure but he would never wish her feelings away. Knowing she loved him made him feel warm inside, made even more hope for their future well up inside him. He knew he still needed to confront his own feelings but knowing her own somehow made that all far less terrifying than it had seemed only yesterday. After another moment of just watching her he crossed to the bed and sat himself at her side, his hand coming to cup her cheek. The pad of his thumb rubbed at her softness and her brow creased slightly as she stirred awake.

In the next moment her beautiful, dark eyes were blinking sleepily at him and her frown deepened for a moment before the lines all smoothed away. “Have I slept too long?” she asked him groggily and he smiled, shaking his head. “Of course not,” he soothed her as she arched her back to stretch herself awake, lying flat down against the bed again with a slight huff. “I have to go to the lords,” he continued on as she yawned, “I just didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye, since I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asked him as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “You can join us later if you’d like, there is no hurry,” he replied, brushing some of her hair back from her face; “I just want you to worry about you…and our baby,” he couldn’t help but grin when he said that out loud and her own lips curved up into a wide answering smile. “You ought not to go to the lords in this mood,” she said teasingly, “we cannot tell anyone about the baby yet, it’s too soon. Best you put your grim face on before you leave.”

He laughed at that, bending his head down to kiss her for a long moment before he pulled back slightly and met her eyes. “What would I do without your council?” he asked her and she smiled again, her hand reaching up to cup around his cheek. He exhaled deeply at her touch, thinking that now would be the perfect time to try and explain some of his own feelings. “You make me so happy,” he told her softly; “I never imagined you would make me this happy…and not just because of the baby,” he added, not wanting her to think she was just a means by which he would secure his reign; “because you are the sweetest, most thoughtful wife I could ever have…I don’t know what I’d do without you Roslin.”

She encouraged him back down to kiss her then and he did as she wanted more than willingly, somehow wrenching himself away instead of sinking down onto the bed with her as he was longing to do. “I have to go,” he murmured regretfully against her lips before he pressed a final kiss to her forehead and got himself up. “I’ll send Ser Damon to you, best you get yourself dressed,” he told her as he pulled on his doublet and fastened it up. “I’ll join you later,” she told him with a smile as he looked back; “I hope all goes well.”

He smiled for her and she returned it before he turned away and pushed aside the flap of the tent to step out into the fresh morning air. There were clouds overhead but it was dry for now at least and he took a deep breath as he surveyed the camp. Smells of cooking were reaching him now and his stomach grumbled, really he ought to get something before going to the lords. It would do no good to sit in with them for hours on an empty stomach. He moved towards the makeshift kitchen area and smiled to the women who were cooking up breakfast. “It will not be long your Grace, will you and the queen be dining together?” one of the women asked him.

“Unfortunately not, the queen will dine in our tent as usual, I have to see the lords so I will have whatever you have at hand and be on my way,” he told her and she nodded her agreement. “Of course your Grace,” she said, moving to tear apart a crusty roll and put it on a plate for him. When he saw the thick rashers of bacon slapped into the bread roll his stomach rumbled again, the smell of it wafting towards him. “Is this enough for you, your Grace?” the woman asked him and he nodded, already reaching out for the plate she was about to offer. “Thank you,” he told her warmly and she curtseyed slightly to him. He took the roll from the plate and left it on the side with the others, biting into his breakfast as he continued on his way.

As Robb walked and ate he couldn’t help but notice Jeyne hanging bandages outside the Maester’s tent. She wasn’t alone, Ser Damon was stood not far from her and they seemed to be in conversation as she worked. Before he could help himself he was walking towards them, telling himself it was because he needed to send Ser Damon to Roslin since he would not be returning to her. When he heard Jeyne’s laughter as he approached though he couldn’t help the slight needle of jealously in his gut and he willed it not to show on his face. “Your Grace,” Ser Damon saw him first, bowing shortly to him to which Robb inclined his head slightly. “Ser,” he replied, keeping his eyes firmly on him and refusing to look at Jeyne; “the queen will have need of you shortly, if you would?”

“Of course your Grace,” Ser Damon inclined his head and Robb mustered a smile. “Thank you Ser,” he said, “my lady,” he added, finally looking at Jeyne and nodding to her to which she curtseyed. With that he turned and walked away, finally heading towards the council tent. His mind was racing now, seeing Jeyne made him think that perhaps he ought to tell her about Roslin. Remembering the pain she had felt over swallowing down moon tea. She had done that for him, so he wouldn’t have to live with the guilt over a bastard along with everything else. Surely it would be best if he told her himself about the pregnancy, lest she hear it in whispers from someone else or see it with her own eyes when Roslin’s condition began to show. He shook his head as he approached the council tent. He would think about it later, right now he had to be focused on his lords and on this war.

* * *

Roslin wished, not for the first time, that Robb would lax the guard around her slightly. She did not object to the men stood outside their tent, in truth she found them to be a rather reassuring presence. What she did object to was sitting across from Ser Damon trying to make polite conversation while she forced down wave after wave of nausea. She would have to talk to Robb about it later, try and make him understand that she needed more privacy now that she was with child lest everyone find out about her condition. She didn’t think that Ser Damon was one for gossip but just one word to the wrong person and the entire army would know. Lady Stark didn’t even know yet, neither did Olyvar. It was just her and Robb and she liked it like that, the bonding secret they had making her almost want to smile despite the discomfort she was in.

Perhaps she could ask him to step out for a moment so she could change her dress? But then she would actually have to change her dress and she could not be bothered with the hassle of it all. Perhaps she could write a note to Olyvar and ask him to deliver it for her? She almost snorted at that, he would give it to one of the other guards to take and be back in her presence in seconds. Damn it. She was the queen, could she not just order him to leave for a moment? Why should she have to explain herself to him? He took his orders from Robb above her though, and doubtless Robb would have told him not to let her fob him off. Damn it.

She really did feel like she was going to be sick now, forcing it down was becoming near impossible. At this point she didn’t even think she would be able to open her mouth to ask him to leave without it all becoming rather embarrassing for both of them. It was no good, she had to move now and so she did, almost diving across the room and just about reaching the chamber pot before her breakfast made a reappearance. Thankfully Ser Damon didn’t fuss over her, he came closer, hesitantly kneeling down at her side before he pulled her hair out of harm’s way. She wanted to thank him but she could get no words out as she choked up again, tears stinging her eyes as her throat burned. Again she retched but there was nothing left to spill from her and so she gasped out, her hand coming to rub at her eyes.

“Would you like some water my queen?” Ser Damon asked her and she managed to nod her head, rocking back away from the chamber pot and slumping her head against the end of the bed, the cool wood soothing to her. “Thank you,” she managed weakly as she watched him pour her a large cup. When he brought it to her she drank it down almost greedily and hoped that she wouldn’t come to regret that later. “I’m sorry about that,” she said, meeting his eyes and feeling the blush rising up on her cheeks as she did so; “I would appreciate your discretion.”

“Of course,” he nodded his agreement, “I will not say a word to anyone my queen, I assure you of that.” She thanked him warmly again at that and took the hand he outstretched to her to help her back up to her feet. “Perhaps I should dispose of that…” he glanced towards the chamber pot and she nodded her head again, embarrassment rising up in her as she crossed to settle down in her chair again. Ser Damon moved about, a rush of cool air coming into the tent and making her feel even better as he disappeared outside. She took some settling breaths as she sat there, her hands coming to settle on her stomach and rub across it lightly. Still she could scarce believe it, despite being affected so much by her pregnancy already there was no outward sign.

A slight smile came to her face as she thought of the little life growing inside her, her little prince or princess. She sighed heavily and hoped that Robb would not be disappointed if she did not bear him a son. She told herself it would be fine, and that there was no reason her baby wouldn’t be a boy. Her own mother had borne five boys, perhaps she herself would one day be just as blessed. She shook her head, she was getting ahead of herself. Best just focus on this baby now and not think of any more until this one had come safely into the world. Roslin’s prayers would be for that from now on, for the swift end to the war, Robb’s victory and the health of their baby.

Ser Damon returned then, snapping her thoughts back to the present, and she mustered a smile for him which he returned before he moved to replace the chamber pot. “Would you pull back the flap of the tent a little?” she asked him, “I think I would benefit from some more fresh air.” He agreed at once, moving to tie it back before he came and took his seat opposite her and smiled again. “Congratulations my queen,” he said quietly and she couldn’t help but smile widely in response. “Thank you,” she said, her heart almost fit to burst with happiness.

* * *

Jeyne was at the back of the supply tent, rearranging the medical supplies on the shelves and making a list for the Maester of things that they were running low on. As she worked she suddenly had the strangest feeling that she was not alone anymore, her heart speeding up irrationally hard as her mind worked through all the possible things she could do or say. Should she speak up, make the unknown presence aware that she knew they were there? Should she say nothing and continue on in the hopes that they would just go away and leave her in peace? At first she had thought it might be Damon, he often snuck up on her and frightened her half out of her skin by playfully nipping at her waist. He would have done that by now though if it was him, and he was likely still guarding the queen.

She swallowed hard and shifted a few more bottles around, turning her head slightly to the side to see if she could see anyone. There was no one that she could see at the end of the row of shelves and so she took a deep breath before turning to face the other way. She tried to peer around a pile of blankets that were folded on the shelves that were now in front of her but again she could see nothing, the flap of the tent firmly in place. Perhaps she was just being paranoid, her imagination running away with her. She made to turn back to her own shelf and jumped as she saw Robb stood there at the end of the row with a rather sheepish expression on his face.

“Sorry,” he said as she clasped her hand to her heart which was pounding even more quickly than before. “I didn’t know you were there,” she said when she felt she could speak; “your Grace,” she added quickly, remembering her formalities. “There is no need for that,” he smiled slightly wryly, “we are alone in here, we don’t have to pretend we barely know one another.”

Was she imagining his eyes looking her up and down? Was he remembering her bare as she often remembered him? Did he ever think of the time they had had, dream of it as she did? Did he wake up breathless and wanting as he remembered the blissful encounters they had shared with one another? Was it possible that he deluded himself into thinking that he could still feel her touch, her skin under his fingertips and her smell on his pillow? Or was that just her?

“Do you have need of me for something?” she finally asked him, not liking the silence that had fallen upon them, nor their close proximity given what had just flashed through her mind. “I wanted to speak to you,” he said before he frowned slightly, opening and closing his mouth a few times as though he were working up the courage to say his next words; “to tell you something,” he elaborated after an uncomfortable minute and it was her turn to frown. “What is that?” she asked him, her heart beating even more wildly in her chest. “Roslin,” he said slowly and awkwardly; “I thought it might be best if I told you that Roslin…that she’s expecting a baby.”

He finished it in a gabbled rush, as though him saying it quickly would make it hurt less. Jeyne took a deep shuddering breath and clenched her fists hard by her sides, trying to remind the rational part of her that this was a _good_ thing for Robb, for his future. “I see,” she managed, her eyes finding the ground as she willed herself not to cry. Her eyes were stinging and she was furious with herself, wishing that she could just hold it together until Robb left her alone and in peace again. She wished he would go. She wished he would turn and walk away so she could collapse in on herself and let it all out. He didn’t go, he moved closer, she could feel it rather than see it, but even so it was still a shock when his hand came to cup her cheek.

“Please don’t,” she whispered, tears definitely leaking from her eyes now as he gently moved her face up so her eyes met his. “I’m sorry,” he murmured back, “perhaps I shouldn’t have told you…I just thought it would be better to let you know, to save you finding out from someone else or noticing it yourself.” She somehow managed to nod against his hand, taking in a shuddering breath and trying to force the emotion back down inside her. “Thank you for your consideration,” she managed.

“Jeyne, I really am sorry,” he said meaningfully and she clenched her trembling lips together and nodded again, his thumb brushing insistently against her cheek before his fingers moved to brush away her tears. “I said don’t,” she said shakily, tilting her head away from him and taking a step back, trying to ignore the look of hurt in his eyes. “I never wanted you to hurt like this,” he said, guilt shining in his eyes that made her suddenly furious with him.

“Really?” she asked him, choking on an unexpected laugh of incredulity; “I sometimes wonder if that is not exactly what you wanted.” His eyes widened at that, a frown coming to crease at his brow. “How can you say that? After all that was between us…” he was shaking his head as she shook her own. “ _Was,_ ” she repeated, “ _was_ , exactly. It’s finished with. You married your Frey girl and don’t you dare stand there and pretend that she doesn’t make you happy because I’ve s _een_ it Robb. I see it every day! I live with it every day! I live with the whispers and the stares and the men propositioning me and calling me vulgar names because I am nothing more than your discarded whore!”

“It was never like that!” she could sense his own anger now as his hand came to slap hard against one of the shelves and clench around the wood so hard that his knuckles turned white. “You know it was never like that!” he reiterated but she refused to look him in the eye. “You were the one who told me to marry her, you were the one who told me to move on. I offered you…I _begged_ you and you refused me, tell me, what was I supposed to do?!”

“Not rub my face in it at every turn!” she snapped at him; “I knew it would be hard but you made it worse, whether you meant to or not…you made it worse…” her emotions were spilling up again now and she put her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. “And now you tell me…” she choked out, “now you tell me…she…she is having…your baby and I…what am I supposed to…to…do with that? Am I…supposed to smile and…offer my congratulations…Am I supposed to…be happy…tell me…am I? Am I supposed to be…happy that it’s her…when it could have…could have been me?!”

“If you wanted it to be you then you should have married me!” he shot at her, his eyes cold as she finally lifted her own up to meet his. “But I didn’t…did I? To save your honour…so you could honour your promises…don’t stand there and pretend that you wish I hadn’t,” she said quietly and he said nothing. He didn’t need to say anything, it was written all over his face that she was right. Robb was far happier now that he had kept his promise and the overwhelming finality of it had Jeyne pushing passed him and down the row of shelves, rounding the corner in time to see the flap of the tent fall back into place, a whisper of silks glanced just before it dropped.

After a second where she remained stock still she practically ran to the flap, her heart sinking as he worst suspicions were concerned. “She heard us,” she said in a panicked whisper as she heard Robb come up behind her. “Who?” he asked her as she turned to face him, his own hand pulling the flap even further aside. “The queen,” Jeyne said, meeting his eyes, “it was the queen.”

 


	22. XXII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos, much appreciated!
> 
> :)

* * *

Robb stared at her incredulously for a moment, anger slowly rising up in him as he thought back on their conversation. Thought back on exactly what Roslin would have heard before she fled. The worst parts she would have picked out in her mind. _I begged you and you refused me._ He clenched his fists hard, his anger intensifying even more as he remembered the last thing he had uttered. _If you wanted it to be you then you should have married me._ The Gods damn it all. He wanted to lash out, to scream and shout at the world but he repressed it with some difficultly, instead letting the flap of the supply tent drop and making to move away. Jeyne caught his arm and he rounded on her at once, seeing her flinch back from him but he felt no guilt. “I’m sorry,” she said desperately but he shook his head.

“You stay away from us,” he said venomously, not even stopping to take in her reaction before he turned and pounded away. Through the camp he went, his eyes searching for any sign of Roslin or of her guard. He could see nothing and assumed she must have returned to their tent. Trying not to think of the state she would be in he practically ran back to it, wrenching the canvas aside and doing a double take when he entered to find Ser Damon alone. “Where is my wife?!” he demanded at once and the knight jumped up to his feet. “Her brother came, she said she was going for a walk with him and that she wouldn’t be long,” Ser Damon reported.

“When?!” Robb snapped at him and Ser Damon frowned. “Not long ago your Grace, I doubt she would have gone far,” he told him but Robb was barely listening, already making his way from the tent again; his eyes again scanning the campsite. Gods he needed to find her. He needed to explain. He ran his hand through his hair in a desperate manner, clenching his fist in his curls and cursing his own stupidity. Damn it. He should have let Jeyne find out on her own, or allow his mother to deliver the news. Gods. How could she have heard? Why would she even have gone to the supply tent? He could only think that she had seen him and decided to follow after him, she had said that she would join him later…

The Gods damn it. He saw his mother after another frantic few moments of looking around, a split second passing before he sprinted off towards her. She looked bewildered at his approach and he dreaded to think what he must look like. “Have you seen Roslin?!” he demanded of her before she could open her mouth and ask him anything. “Not today no, why? Has something happened?” she asked him as he almost moaned out in frustration. “I can’t…I need to find her, if you see her just…just keep her with you and send someone to me,” he said, his eyes darting around again, looking for her. For Olyvar. For anyone who might know where she was. “Robb…what…” his mother started but he had no time to explain it to her. “Would you just do it?!” he snapped at her and she nodded obediently, to which he turned and marched way again, his eyes desperately searching for his wife.

* * *

She collapsed into Olyvar’s arms, barely hearing his words of concern as he rubbed his hands up and down her back and guided her further into his tent. “Roslin please…” his voice was finally beginning to register through her tears and she took a great shuddering breath, clinging even more tightly to him. “I thought it was finished…I thought he was mine…Gods I am so, so stupid,” she scolded herself. _I never wanted you to hurt like this._ His words rang in her ears as she choked on another sob, _what about me?_ She had wanted to scream, _what about me? Did you want me to hurt?_ “Roslin, what’s happened?” Olyvar sounded even more insistent now and she shoved away from him, suddenly just as furious with him as she was with herself.

“You need ask!” she snapped at him, “You knew all along and yet I had to hear it from Arwyn of all people. Stand there and look at her gloating face…oh she would love this…” she tailed off, shaking her head, the strangest urge to laugh taking over her that she tried to repress. _You should have married me._ “Roslin…” he started again but she could see it in his eyes that she knew exactly what she was talking about. “I love him,” she told her brother and the guilt looked as though it would eat him from the inside; “I fell in love with him despite it. I gave him everything. _Everything!_ I was patient, willing, I did everything I could think of to make him happy! I’m carrying his child for the love of the Gods and it’s still not enough, it’s still not enough because he still wants her! She thinks I have it all but she couldn’t be more wrong because _she_ still has his heart and she will never let go!”

“He swore it would stop,” Olyvar said, his face a picture of devastation as she sank down into a chair, her shaking hand coming to her mouth. “He swore it would stop,” he said again, “once you were wed he swore he would be faithful to you Roslin…that’s why I never told you. I only warned father because for a while I thought he would…” he tailed off, evidently thinking that he had said too much and Roslin snapped her eyes to his. “Thought he would what?” she practically snarled and he seemed to cringe slightly away from her. “Take her as his wife,” he told her quietly and she nodded her head in understanding, a wave of calm beginning to wash over her now.

“Roslin?” Olyvar sounded almost nervous, evidently unnerved by her sudden composure. She didn’t say anything in response and he shifted nervously for a moment before a frantic shout came from outside the canvas of his tent. “That’s the King,” he told her, as though she did not recognise her own husband’s voice. “I can’t ignore him Roslin…he’s the King,” he went on and still she said nothing. He seemed to give up on her after a moment, moving instead to the flap of the tent. “Is she here?” Robb’s panicked voice sounded and she could only assume that Olyvar had nodded because in the blink of an eye Robb was stood in front of her, his eyes as nervous as her brother’s had been.

“Can you leave us Olyvar?” Robb finally asked and her brother murmured his agreement before he squeezed her shoulder tightly. “Roslin,” Robb began when she assumed Olyvar had gone; “what you heard…” he started but she cut him off at once, standing abruptly. “I knew,” she told him, meeting his eyes; “I always knew. I just stupidly believed Marianne when she told me that you would never humiliate me like that. I should have known better, I was prepared for better…my father taught me that better than any Septa ever could. More fool me I actually let myself feel for you…fall for you. I actually deluded myself into thinking we could be happy, that one day you might want me the way I want you.”

“I do want you!” he protested, his eyes pleading as he came to lay his hands on her shoulders, almost shaking her; “I do want you Roslin, please believe me…I didn’t always, I confess I didn’t always but I _do_ now, I have done for a long time. Jeyne she just…just…”

“Just got there first?” Roslin supplied and he shook his head, looking furious. With her or himself she didn’t know and neither did she care at this moment in time. “I just thought it would be best, considering what was once between us, that I tell her about you being with child…to spare her feelings later on when your condition becomes obvious…” he told her desperately and she so badly wanted to believe that that was all it was.

“I heard you,” she whispered, her emotions threatening to get the better of her again; “I heard what you said, that you never wanted to hurt her, that you wanted her…” she choked on a sob; “you wanted her as your wife.”

“Yes I did,” he confessed, “yes I did when all I had was her and you were just a promise I made for a bridge. A promise I resented because crossing that damn bridge had brought me nothing but loss and misery! You meant absolutely nothing to me Roslin, I didn’t even want you, I didn’t even choose you I had my mother do it because I couldn’t care less which Frey girl I married because you were all the same in my head. Each one of you, exactly the same because you weren’t Jeyne. You weren’t what I w _anted._ There you have it. That’s how I felt about you, that’s the truth of it…but that isn’t how I feel about you now, do you understand that?! I meant what I said this morning, I meant every word!”

One of his hands had slid up to her cheek now and she was leaning into him despite herself, furious with her heart and her body. Her mind was still so angry but it was allowing her other, deeper feelings to take over, wanting to believe him above all else. “I want to believe you,” she whispered, closing her eyes at his touch and taking another shuddering breath; “but I feel it every day. I feel the fear that you will slip away to be with her again. I feel like I will never escape the shadow of her looming above our marriage because I will always be second best in your eyes.” With that she tore herself away and turned to leave, unable to stand being near him anymore because right now just his mere presence was enough to tear her apart.

“I don’t love her anymore!” he shouted and she froze before she could take another step, slowly turning back to face him, unsure if she should believe him or not. “I don’t love her…I don’t know if I ever did,” he went on and she swallowed hard. “I thought I did…it felt like I did but then you…things are so different with you, so wonderful with you and I…I don’t know what I feel anymore. But I know in my heart that you are not second best to anyone, not anymore. You are _my_ wife and _my_ queen and I swear to you now on my life and what is left of my honour that I do not regret marrying you.”

Roslin stepped closer to him, his beautiful eyes screaming at her to believe him. To trust him. Her heart was already open, willing to accept him with open arms. Her mind was more cautious, warning her to tread more carefully this time. Part of her hated everything that had transpired since she had overheard him and Jeyne in the supply tent. The other part was relieved that it was all out in the open and that she didn’t have to pretend anymore. Hesitantly she reached out and placed her hand on his chest, just above where she knew his heart beat. His own hand came slowly to rest upon hers and she lifted her head up so she could meet his eyes.

“You said you always knew,” he said quietly, his brow creasing; “why did you never say anything to me?” Roslin wanted to laugh at that, a wry smile tugging up at her lips. “When would have been a good time? When we were strangers and you could barely stand to be around me? The wedding? The wedding night? When we were finally getting to know one another? When you couldn’t bed me or when you could? When we were happy? When Robb, when was I supposed to tell you that I knew all about her?” she raised her brow as she reeled off the questions, his head shaking slightly; “I know I behaved badly…the night we arrived at Oxcross but I couldn’t help it. You and I had been getting on so well and yet as soon as you were in her presence your mood blackened…you turned to drink. I wanted to show her, to show you, remind you that I was there…”

“You don’t have to explain,” he whispered, his hand clenching around hers for a moment; “I behaved appallingly when we were first married, I was not the husband you deserved. I am still not the husband you deserve but I swear I’ll do better. Name anything Roslin…just tell me what I can do to fix this between us and I will do it…”

“I just want to know, that one day…that one day there is a chance that your heart will belong to me,” she said quietly, somehow managing to meet his eyes. “It already does,” he whispered back to her and she swallowed hard, hoping she was not imagining the sincerity in his eyes. She moved closer and he bent his own head, their lips pausing a fraction from one another’s. “It already does,” he whispered again, his warm breath tickling at her lips just before he pressed his own against them. She kissed him back blindly, allowing their passion to seep into everything and let her forget what had just gone before them. Forget the tears and the anger. Focusing just on him and how good he tasted in her mouth and how his touch set her skin on fire as his fingers had somehow found their way beneath her laces.

Before Roslin could even begin to think straight they were moving, Robb pulling her back towards the bed. Somewhere in her mind she knew it was wrong, that they really should not even be considering doing this in Olyvar’s tent. That tiny rational part of her disappeared in the next instant though as Robb sank down onto the end of the bed, pulling her with him so she was straddling his lap. His lips wrenched from hers and she was disgruntled, wanting his searing kisses again but he was already trailing them elsewhere as his hands tugged up her skirts. Her own went to unlace him as he began murmuring half intelligible words against her throat. “It’s you…you, you…only you…” he mumbled and his words only served to make her want him more.

Her touch found his uncovered length and he groaned out against her shoulder as his hands came to her hips and raised them up. It was easy to glide down against him, allow him to fill her completely and make her feel entirely whole. How he did that she didn’t know, nor did she care as immense pleasure engulfed her. His hands came up to fist in her hair as she rocked into him over and over again, her hips moving more and more frantically as she buried her head in the crook of his neck to stifle the moans she could not bite back. “It’s you Roslin…it’s you,” he was telling her again, his tone of voice fierce as she rocked harder and harder against him, a growl escaping his lips as she felt the familiar shaking feeling that told her she was ready to fall.

She always felt so weak and wanton and needing in this moment but the feeling of utter weightlessness and bliss that followed was worth the moment of vulnerability. It was worth losing control of every pore of her body just to feel the pleasure seep through afterwards when she clung to Robb so tightly having just fallen apart entirely in his arms. She was ready to do that now, ready to trust him to catch her and hold her tight as he always did. Ready to reach that peak that always seemed to bring him to his own. It was almost painful by the end but her clenching stomach would soon uncoil and she was quaking in anticipation of what would follow.

She didn’t have to wait long, her body surrendering in the next moment and Robb’s own exploding beneath her, inside her, as her own shuddered around him. He was gasping against her neck and her own breath was hard to force out as her head spun with heady bliss. She could easily fall down against him, allow him to pull her down into the bed and remain entwined forever. It was all she wanted. In this moment of sheer ecstasy it was the one thing in the world she wanted above all else. Him. To be in his arms. Safe and secure and breathless.

* * *

Jeyne’s hands were still shaking, they had not stopped shaking since Robb’s eyes had met hers and his lips had uttered the words she imagined would haunt her forever. _You stay away from us._ She couldn’t blame him, she had lost her temper with him, allowed all her repressed bitterness and jealousy to rise up and spill out against him. It had been the final straw, him standing there, shifting nervously and barely able to look her in the eye as he told her that his wife was with child. That they would share something together that Jeyne had flushed away with that accursed tea. Now more than ever she knew she had been right to drink it though. Robb had no feelings for her anymore, besides that of guilt, and after the look he had bestowed on her earlier she imagined that that too was now swiftly dissipating.

_Us._ Robb and Roslin. The King in the North and his beautiful queen. A perfect match. An agreeable arrangement. What did that leave Jeyne? Spoiled and with no prospects beyond that of perhaps one day working in a clinic in a small town. She could stay with Alys and Edmure but once this war was over they would be going back to Riverrun and she didn’t think she could face that place again. The place where she and Robb had been happy, the place they spent their last night, where they had confessed their love for one another. Jeyne snorted, reaching out to pour herself a large cup of wine. It was the place he had married _her_. Made Roslin Frey his wife. His Frey girl he had been adamant that he didn’t want who he now did everything and anything for. Now she was with child, carrying his heir and that would ensure her Robb’s undying affection forever.

Jeyne had to admire her, she must have something special to twist him completely around her fingers so deftly and so easily. She was beautiful. The men clamoured over her as well. She imagined if the queen asked them all to lay face down in the mud so she could walk across their backs they would do it gladly, gratefully. Likely she was made to be queen, but that just made it all a thousand times worse. Jeyne drank down half her wine in one go, gulping it down and hoping the sweetness of it would seep into her and numb the pain for a while. She hated herself for being so bitter, so resentful of a young woman that in any other situation she would likely have been great friends with. Roslin was entirely blameless, she had just been chosen and all credit to her she had made the best out of her situation. Why shouldn’t she be happy? Wouldn’t Jeyne snatch that given the chance?

“Jeyne?” she recognised his voice and contemplated keeping quiet and pretending she wasn’t here. She could be anywhere, he didn’t know. “Come in,” she said instead before she swallowed down even more wine. “Are you alright?” he asked in concern and she turned around to face him. “The queen knows,” she said, a laugh escaping her and causing a bewildered expression to cross his face. Before he could ask her anything else though she was speaking again; “the King came to see me and I let it all out…Gods he must think me a bitter old hag…he will be counting all his blessings that he got _sweet_ Roslin instead.”

“Are you drunk?” he asked her and she couldn’t help but laugh again. Of all the questions he could have asked he went for that one. “Not yet,” she said simply and he raised his brows before he came closer and picked up her wine flagon. “You will not object to company,” he said and she stayed quiet as he poured himself a cup before moving the flagon to top up her own. “She’s pregnant,” Jeyne said, noticing that he didn’t look surprised; “but I suppose you already knew that…”

“The queen was sick before, I may be a simple man but from her behaviour it was obvious. She asked me for discretion…how is it you know?” he asked her as she took another long drink from her cup. “The King told me,” she said, “he thought it might be _best_ that he inform me himself lest I find out by myself. Likely he thought I would cause a s _cene…_ ”

“I doubt that’s what he thought,” Damon said, “likely he thought he owed you the truth from his own mouth given your close history.” Jeyne snorted at that, even though what he was saying made sense she didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to think rationally right now. She wanted to be irrational. Foolish. She eyed him. His eyes were blue but not like Robb’s, they were stormier, flecks of grey or perhaps brown in them. Without thinking she stepped closer, her eyes lingering on the dark waves of his hair that fell to just above his shoulders before they dragged along his strong jawline that was decorated with stubble. Usually he was clean shaven but clearly he had had no opportunity to shave in the past days.

She had an overwhelming urge to feel the roughness under her touch and so she reached up and placed her hand on his cheek. His breath whispered at her skin as she smoothed her hand down across his jaw, her eyes meeting his as she did so. “You were right you know,” she whispered, “why is it fair that men can do whatever they please? Why shouldn’t I be allowed to go out and fuck a thousand men?”

“Do you want to fuck a thousand men?” he asked her with raised brows and she shook her head, shifting herself closer to him. “Not a thousand,” she whispered and in the next moment his lips crashed against hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself closer, his hands coming to her hips and holding her flush against him. Her own hands came to fist in his hair as their lips seemed to engage in a furious battle with one another, their tongues dancing and leaving Jeyne craving more. She had never wanted a man that wasn’t Robb but right now she wanted Damon that way, that raw, animalistic need in the pit of her stomach snarling angrily and begging for satiation.

As though responding entirely to her body’s baser instincts she pulled him back, her lips still fused with his as they stumbled slightly towards her bed. “Jeyne…” he murmured against her lips but she pulled him back into the kiss before he could say anymore. He was lowering her gently down onto the bed then and her hands came to snatch at the fastenings of his doublet, pulling them open before allowing her fingers to find the lacings on his tunic. “Jeyne,” he said again, pulling back further this time so he could meet her eyes; “we shouldn’t…”

Her hands fell away from him at once, tears stinging at her eyes. She should have known better, of course he didn’t want her. How could he? When she was all used up and spoiled and still pining for a man who could never be hers? “Just go,” she whispered before any of the tears could spill out but he made no move to leave. “I said go!” she shouted at him, sitting herself up and shoving at his chest. Still he didn’t go, moving in closer and wrapping his arms around her. “Stop it…” she choked out but her arms betrayed her, wrapping around his torso as he crushed her against his chest. “You’re not ready for any of this,” he whispered against her hair; “but I’m not giving up on you Jeyne…and I’m not leaving you here on your own. You need someone, you need _me_ , whether you will admit it or not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note to say that I won't be updating for a few weeks because I'm off on my holidays this afternoon. Also, for those who want to see a happy Jeyne, this is her lowest point - it's all up from here, the torture shall cease! Catch you all in a few weeks! :)


	23. XXIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your patience whilst I've been away, hope you enjoy the new update!  
> Also, many thanks for the kudos - much appreciated!
> 
> :)

* * *

“So, Roslin knows about Jeyne?” Catelyn asked Robb, her brows raising as he poured them both some tea. “She always knew…her sister told her or something, I don’t even know that happened but I suspect one of the Freys must have sent word of it back to the Twins,” Robb said with a sigh, setting down the pot and slumping down opposite his mother. “Well, you can’t very well blame any of them for that given what you were doing, likely they were worried you were going to break your pact,” Catelyn told him and he nodded his agreement as she added some honey to her tea. “I know, I don’t blame them,” he said distractedly, his leg jumping up and down. “I thought you said everything was sorted between the two of you?” Catelyn raised her brows and he sighed again.

“It is,” he said, refusing to elaborate further and she fixed her gaze on him, seeing him almost squirm uncomfortably in his chair. “Then what has you in such an agitated mood?” she finally asked when he showed no sign of unburdening himself. “I just know I’m never going to repair the damage…with Jeyne I mean,” he said and Catelyn nodded her understanding. “You both knew what you were doing,” she reminded him; “it is not just you to blame for this situation, Jeyne agreed to it. Granted, she likely didn’t know how difficult it would become but she still agreed to it.”

“I know,” Robb looked a little placated but still troubled as he lifted his tea up to his lips and took a few sips. “Have you had any word from the Wall?” she asked him hopefully and he shook his head. “I sent another message to Jon but there has been no reply as yet, nor from the Lord Commander,” Robb told her and she tried not to let that bother her. It was a long flight to the Wall for the ravens and likely the weather was getting harsher up there. “Likely it will be any day,” she tried to sound positive and not let her increasing worry show on her face. “I know you’re worried,” he said knowingly and she smiled slightly; “we all are…but there is nothing to be done but wait.”

“Have you sent word to the Rock?” she asked him instead and he nodded. “I’ve asked them to surrender the castle to me, that no one will be harmed should they comply,” he told her and it was her turn to nod. “Do you have any hope at all that they will do just that?” she asked him and he snorted, a wry smile coming to his lips. “They will drag this out as long as they can, no doubt shut away in their studies writing furiously to Tywin Lannister. We shot three ravens down yesterday,” he informed her and she raised her brows. “You’ll not shoot them all down, and likely Tywin Lannister already knows all about this,” she said.

“Yes, well,” he took another sip of tea; “he is preparing for a Royal wedding so that should buy us some time. If he marches with the Tyrells we could be in trouble, do you think the Vale would send forces?” Catelyn sighed heavily at that, remembering how _useful_ Lysa had been when she had gone to her with Tyrion Lannister. “Let’s just say Lysa is not as compliant as Edmure, she does not remember our house words quite the way he does,” she told him and he snorted again. “It was worth a try,” he muttered and she smiled sympathetically at him.

“It won’t hurt to write to her again, leave it with me,” she said, reaching her hand out to him and squeezing his own. “Thank you,” he said meaningfully; “I’ve been thinking about Stannis…father would have wanted me to back him but he refused me before. You know that is the only reason I sent you to Renly…perhaps now after his defeat at the Blackwater he might be more willing to listen to me?”

“He would want you to give up the North, surrender your crown and swear fealty to him,” Catelyn reminded him and he sighed heavily. “Perhaps,” he said, “but that all depends on how desperate he is. He has precious few allies, barely any of Renly’s banners have defected to him. I could defeat him in open war and from what father used to say of him, I doubt he would be ignorant enough to ignore that fact. He dismissed me as green mother, surely now he can see he has made a mistake?”

“He killed his own brother Robb,” Catelyn reminded him, “best you remember that fact before you think of sending him any messages. I’m not sure the men would be as happy to fight for you if you were allied with him, and your banners wouldn’t like it. Why do you think they named you King in the first place? They champion you because they have no faith in southern lords. I’m not sure it’s wise to go to Stannis when you have no need of him, his forces are decimated, and if the rumours are true his red priestess had been burning more people on Dragonstone. You know their crime? Not worshipping her red God. She would burn all those who follow the faith of the Seven or the Old Gods. You really want to ally yourself with that?”

“No,” Robb finally said after sitting silently for a long moment. “I know it’s what your father wanted,” she said gently, “but even he would be having second thoughts now about whether it is the honourable thing. He would want to protect the North as you do, perhaps he would have gone about it differently but I know he would be proud of what you’re doing, how hard you’re fighting to bring our family back together again.”

“Thank you,” he said, his voice rather thick with emotion and she reached her hand out to his again. “I’m proud of you as well, of everything,” she said, “and I’m sorry I went against you with the Kingslayer…it was rash of me and I ought not to have done it but I was desperate Robb. I just want my girls back and I stupidly thought that he would get them to me…”

“I know there was no malicious intent,” he said after a moment, “and you’re my mother, I would forgive you anything you know that. But I beg of you, never go against me like that again because my lords will not allow me to be so merciful again.” Catelyn nodded her head at that, knowing full well that some of Robb’s bannermen would be more than happy to see her enclosed in the Kingslayer’s old cage. “I will never go against you again,” she promised, “I wish I never had. I swear to you Robb, whatever decision you make from now on I will fully support, but I will not cease to give you honest council when I feel you are making a mistake.”

“I always want your honesty mother,” he said, “never doubt that or be afraid to council me when you think it necessary.” Catelyn thanked him warmly, a call for him coming through the canvas of her tent in the next moment. “Come,” Robb called and Olyvar entered at once. “Word from Riverrun your Grace,” Olyvar handed the sealed parchment to him; “I could not find Lord Tully.”

“Thank you,” Robb said distractedly and Catelyn frowned, wondering what could be so urgent at Riverrun. Gods, she hoped it were not under siege again, especially with Edmure not there. She trained her eyes on Robb as he snapped the seal and hurriedly unravelled the parchment, his eyes widening as he read through it. When he got to the end he seemed to read through it again before his eyes snapped up to her. “Arya is at Riverrun,” he said in a slightly dazed manner and Catelyn clapped her hand to her mouth at once. “Truly?” she asked him when she felt she had some of her emotion under control. “Truly,” Robb confirmed, a bright smile lighting up his face as he passed the letter to her. She read through it, her own eyes widening as she read her daughter’s own hand.

“The Hound?” she shook her head incredulously, her mind spinning as she tried to think of one single reason why such a man would want to help her family. “I know, he’s demanding gold but I will see to that,” Robb said and she looked up from the letter to meet his delighted gaze again. “Now we just need news of Bran and Sansa…we are so close Robb…” she said hopefully and he nodded, standing up from the table and moving round so he could come and press a kiss to the top of her head. “I will have to see the lords about this, arrange a party of men to take the ransom,” he said, “we will drink to this later mother.” She agreed faintly, her eyes again drawn to the letter as Robb squeezed her shoulder before leaving, Olyvar following on behind him.

Catelyn took a shuddering breath when she was left alone, torn between laughing and crying as she clutched Arya’s letter to her heart. Her youngest daughter had been through too much, been alone for too long and Catelyn was desperate to have her back in her arms. She was desperate for the others as well but she knew that there was no chance of her being able to see them in the near future. It had been something she had struggled with but learned to accept. Now though…now Arya was so close, only a week’s ride away and she was so desperate. She had promised Robb to be here and now she was torn. Robb had his lords, he had friends here and he had Roslin, a wife he had struggled with at first but grown to adore. He could live without her for a while at least. Arya had been alone for so long, surely Robb would agree that she would need her mother?

Catelyn made up her mind as she looked down at the letter again. She would ask Robb his permission later to go with the men to Riverrun and deliver Arya’s ransom herself. No doubt she would have to return to Robb after a time but at least she could see her daughter safe and returned with her own eyes just for a while. She would ask him. He had said they would drink to her return later, doubtless that would mean a family dinner. She would ask him then, and she would pray until the time came that he would not refuse her.

* * *

“I can’t help but feel that you’ve been avoiding me,” Damon’s voice sounded behind her and Jeyne inwardly cringed. “I’m not embarrassed you know, nor ashamed, if that’s what you’ve been thinking,” he continued on, “believe me I would have been more than happy to ravish you last night if I had thought it was what you really wanted. I –,”

“Enough!” Jeyne cut him off, finally turning around to face him before he could say any more mortifying things. She had made such a fool out of herself the night before. Soaking his tunic through with her tears and sobbing in his arms for half the night. He had held her, hushed her and whispered any number of soothing things to her as he laid with her cradled against him. Eventually she had fallen asleep, her body exhausted from all the crying and when she woke up she had a pounding headache and an ever increasing sense of shame. She’d slipped away before he had woken up, feeling utterly ridiculous that she was actually sneaking out of her own tent. “My behaviour last night was very unladylike and I promise it will never happen again,” she said firmly.

“And here I was hoping you’d share dinner with me tonight,” he said and she raised one brow and looked at him sceptically. “I don’t need your pity,” she told him and to her surprise he chuckled. “You think I pity you?” he asked and she frowned slightly; “I admire you,” he continued on, “you’re probably the strongest woman I have ever met. There is nothing false about you Jeyne…I have no qualms admitting that you intrigue me. Have dinner with me.”

“Is that a command?” she asked him with a raised brow and he smirked. “Do you like a commanding man?” he asked her, coming closer and twirling a lock of her hair around his fingers; “See I imagined in my mind that you would be quite the domineering one…” he trailed off and winked at her and she couldn’t help the tiny tug of her lips. “You are an outrageous flirt,” she told him, a smile definitely pulling her lips up now. “Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it,” he said and she bit down on her bottom lip before her smile could widen. “What do you want from me?” she asked him after a moment and he met her eyes for the longest time.

“I want to get to know you better. Not the pining, moping girl who was the lover of the King but who you were before that. Sometimes I think I can see her but then sulky rears her head again,” he said and she smacked his arm; “and if you ever stop your pining for him and fall into my bed then all the better,” he continued and she smacked him even harder. “I’m sorry I made a fool out of myself last night, but must you tease me about it?” she asked him and he grinned. “Who said I was teasing?” he whispered, leaning into her and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “See you later,” he breathed in her ear, his breath tickling and making her want to squirm in any number of places.

With that he pulled away and sauntered off. Never had she seen a man walk with so much confidence. Arrogance, even. Secretly she liked that side of him though, he was a breath of fresh air, not one part of him remotely similar to Robb. She supposed that was why there was an obvious tension between them. Jeyne sighed and rubbed at her temples, the persistent ache of her head not helped at all by these confusing thoughts. She had felt alive the night before when Damon’s lips had been on hers, felt her stomach clenched in painful anticipation. The tears that followed his rejection were only half for Robb. The other half of her mourned the fact that he had turned her down. Perhaps there was some honour in him after all? She snorted, knowing it was very wrong to wish that he had ignored his better conscience and taken her to bed.

* * *

“This looks incredible,” Robb said, snaking his arms around Roslin’s waist and pulling her back against his chest as he surveyed the food that had been spread out for dinner. “It’s a celebration,” she said brightly, letting one of her hands come to rest atop his as he rubbed her stomach affectionately. “My mother will be thrilled you’ve gone to so much effort,” he praised her, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple and hearing her sigh happily at the gesture. “Doubtless she is more thrilled to know that yet another of her children is safe,” Roslin said before she wriggled out of his clutches and moved towards the side table which had been replenished with wine. “Indeed,” Robb agreed with her, watching her carefully as she moved around to pour a measure into every cup but her own.

She had ordered lemon and mint water for herself having found out at dinner the night before that wine no longer agreed with her. The baby had already changed her tastes and appetites so much and Robb wondered vaguely how much more was to come. Roslin caught him looking at her then, a little frown creasing her brow as she paused in pouring another cup. “Is something wrong?” she asked him and he shook his head. “Not at all,” he soothed her, “I was just thinking about how beautiful you look tonight.” She beamed at that, a faint blush colouring her cheeks that he still found so endearing. He had the urge to cross to her and gather her up in his arms but he had to resist it as he heard voices approaching their tent.

He crossed instead to the entrance and pulled the flap aside, revealing Edmure and Alys arm-in-arm and his mother walking along at their side. “You’re just in time,” Robb smiled, “come in.” They did as he bid, murmuring their greetings to him and Roslin as she welcomed them herself, indicating for them to sit down. Robb moved to his own place at the head of the table, Roslin taking her place on his immediate right with Edmure on his left, Alys at his side. His mother took the seat next to Roslin and smiled almost apprehensively at Robb. He could tell there was something on her mind but he decided not to draw attention to it since they had company, instead raising his wine cup.

“To Arya,” he said simply and the words were echoed by the others, their wooden cups bashing together before each of them took a sip. “You must all be so relieved,” Alys said as Robb gestured for everyone to help themselves to dinner. “More relieved than I can say,” Robb agreed, “for so long there was no news of her at all. At least now we know why.”

“I still cannot quite believe that Clegane of all people returned her,” Edmure commented as he pulled some meat onto his plate; “I was always under the impression that he was the Lannisters dog, much as his brother is.” Robb nodded his agreement, offering Roslin a tureen of potatoes which she took with thanks. “From what Arya said he fled the Blackwater, perhaps it isn’t surprising, given the rumours that the whole water was set aflame,” Robb said and Edmure murmured his agreement. “What do you mean?” Roslin asked curiously.

“He was burned as a child, scarred for life. They say it was the work of his own brother,” Robb explained to her; “if that were me I imagine I would be rather nervous around fire, even if I had the fierce reputation he does,” he finished before he took a mouthful of dinner. “It still doesn’t explain why he helped Arya though,” his mother piped up and Robb shrugged, still in the process of swallowing down his food. “If he deserted the Lannisters then he is a dead man walking, likely he used her as an opportunity to collect some gold and go into hiding somewhere. Perhaps it will buy him passage across the Narrow Sea,” Robb told her.

“I suppose,” she agreed with him, turning her attention to her own meal. Comfortable silence fell across them then as they all concentrated on dinner. Robb’s eyes slid to Roslin on more than one occasion, noticing how slowly and carefully she was eating. She never knew which foods would trigger her sickness and he could see there was not a wide variety on her plate. She met his eyes the next time he glanced at her and he flickered his own between her plate and her face, hoping she would understand his gesture. Obviously she did as she gave him a small smile and inclined her head slightly towards him.

“I wondered if I might ask you something,” his mother spoke up when they had all cleared their plates, Roslin topping up wine cups as Edmure eyed up more of the food. “Of course mother,” Robb smiled at her, seeing that apprehensive look in her eyes again. “I wonder if you would perhaps allow me to go to Riverrun with the men, to see Arya,” she looked at him pleadingly and Robb swallowed hard. He could send her, but he would never be able to be completely certain that she would arrive safely. What if something happened to her on the road? She looked so desperate though and Robb imagined that she needed to have Arya back in her arms, just as she needed Bran and Rickon and Sansa. She couldn’t have them though, but she could have Arya, all it needed was one word from him.

Again he glanced at Roslin and she smiled reassuringly at him, her hand coming to rest on his and squeeze lightly. He could live without having his mother here, doubtless she knew that or she never would have considered leaving. So long ago he had told her to go back to Winterfell to be with the boys but she had refused, sensing his vulnerability and unwilling to let him march on without her. Now she knew better, knew he was stronger and far more capable of coping without her. “Very well,” he said after a long silence, “I will increase the party to three hundred and have the Smalljon lead you there,” he continued and he saw the gratitude in his mother’s eyes.

“Thank you,” she said meaningfully, “thank you Robb…” He could only nod, not trusting himself to speak. He may well be able to cope without his mother but it didn’t mean that he wanted to. Roslin squeezed his hand even more tightly and he was even more pleased with his decision to keep her at his side now. Perhaps it was selfish, perhaps now she was with child he ought to think about sending her away too. He looked to the side and met her eyes. She didn’t want to go away, she had been adamant about that and that was enough for him to keep her here where he wanted her. _Needed_ her. “They will leave tomorrow,” Robb finally said, “I ought to see the Greatjon about these new arrangements…”

“I’ll do it,” Edmure said before Robb had even half risen out of his chair. “I’ll come with you,” Alys said, “thank you so much for dinner…” They looked rather awkward as they made to leave and Robb did his best to thank them warmly. No doubt they sensed his darkening mood and were grateful for an excuse to leave. It only made him feel guilty though as he thought about how much effort Roslin had gone to. “I ought to retire as well,” his mother said, rising up from her own chair; “thank you Robb, I truly mean it…and I will return at once if you have need of me.”

“Thank you,” Robb said slightly tersely; “goodnight mother,” he managed to meet her eyes, his voice coming out more softly this time and she nodded her head. “Goodnight Robb, Roslin,” she smiled between them before she made her own way out and Robb let out a long breath when he was left alone with his wife. “I’m still here,” Roslin said quietly, her soft touch caressing the back of his hand and he nodded determinedly.

“I know,” he said, standing up from the table and pacing up and down the tent; “you know before all this started…before that man came for Bran I had never been apart from my mother. Father would have to ride out to holdfasts and patrol the North but mother was always there. When this war started I was without her and I had no idea what to do, how to organise myself. I marched blindly until she came back and gave me some confidence. I know I can cope better now but I…I’m just so scared of making a wrong turn and not being able to see it because she isn’t here to council me.”

“You have me,” Roslin stood up, coming to place herself in front of him and put her hands on his chest to halt his pacing. “I may not be as wise as your mother but I know what you need from this war and I will help you get it because we want the same thing Robb. We want to go home, and I won’t let you lead us down any path that takes us any further away from achieving that,” she promised him, her beautiful eyes fixed intensely on his as she spoke. “It will be hard without her, but if I didn’t have you I think I’d fall apart,” he confessed and she moved closer, wrapping her arms around his waist, his own coming to hold her tightly against him. “I’m going nowhere Robb Stark,” she said fiercely; “I will follow you to the end of this world if I have to. Whatever it takes, whatever it takes for us to get home safely.”


	24. XXIV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos guys! It may be a while before I can update again because I'm going away for work tomorrow. With a bit of luck I'll be able to update on my travels, but if not, it will be a few weeks. Hopefully this chapter will tide you over. Thanks for your patience!  
> :)

* * *

Robb kept his jaw set as the men saddled up around his mother, Roslin’s hand tightening around his forearm as they waited for her to finish her conversation with the Smalljon. She turned away from him after another moment and smiled towards Robb. He forced himself to return it, hoping that it hadn’t come out as a grimace. “If you need me all you have to do is send word,” his mother said quietly when she came to a halt just in front of them. “I know,” he said, forcing another smile. She looked as though she would say something else but seemed to change her mind, instead reaching her hand up to pat his cheek. “I’m proud of you and I love you,” she said lowly and he nodded, his eyes tight. “Safe journey,” he managed to get out and it was her turn to nod.

She moved her attention to Roslin then and Robb managed to take in a deep breath as his mother and his wife embraced. “Take care of him for me,” he distinctly heard his mother murmur. “I will Catelyn,” Roslin replied; “I promise you.” His mother seemed satisfied with that, pulling away from Roslin and looking between them both for a long moment before she smiled for them and turned away. Robb watched her go, Roslin’s grip growing steadily tighter around his forearm. He caught the Smalljon’s eye and inclined his head, his friend and trusted soldier returning the gesture. His mother was helped up onto her horse by one of the men, turning to raise her hand up to Robb and Roslin as the Smalljon hauled himself up onto his own horse and gave the order to depart.

Robb raised his hand up in response, Roslin doing the same at his side as the three hundred strong party picked their way to the edge of the camp before breaking into a gallop. If they made good speed then they ought to be at Riverrun in just under a week. His mother had promised to send word of their safe arrival as soon as they reached her childhood home and he could only assume she would make good on her word. “Shall we go for a walk about camp?” Roslin asked him tentatively when the sound of hooves faded away. “You should ask Olyvar,” he said slightly shortly, sighing regretfully at once and turning to meet her eyes; “I’m sorry…I just have to see the lords is all.”

“Very well,” she smiled at him, “it was just a thought. Perhaps I will sit out in the sun instead and read that new book you acquired for me.” He returned her smile, leaning in to kiss her lips before he pulled back from her and sighed again. “Whatever makes you happy,” he said, “I will return to you as soon as I can but I’m expecting an update from Lord Karstark so I may be a while.”

“You smiling makes me happy,” she told him, fixing her eyes on his; “do you want me to come to your meeting with you? I have not been present for a while,” a little frown creased her brow as she waited for his response. “No you don’t have to trouble yourself, go and enjoy your book and I promise I will come back to you with a smile on my face,” he said and her own lips quirked up. “Good,” she said, leaning up on the tips of her toes so she could press a final kiss to his lips before she departed his company. He watched her progress, seeing how she responded to the greetings some of the men threw at her, pausing for several minutes to speak with a man who had been injured in the battle for Lannisport. A smile did indeed tug on his lips as he watched her lay a hand on the shoulder of the man, soothing words no doubt on her lips. Somehow he managed to tear his eyes away and make for the council tent, a new spring in his step and a small smile on his face.

When he entered all his lords but Lord Bolton were present, bowing shortly to him and murmuring their greetings. “Where is Lord Bolton?” Robb asked with a frown as he sat himself down at the head of the table. “He received a raven your Grace, he went to reply to it,” Maege Mormont informed him and he nodded, gratefully accepting the wine that Olyvar was offering round. “Anything I should be concerned with?” Robb asked.

“He didn’t mention the content,” the Greatjon sniffed, looking rather disgruntled and Robb smiled at him. Lord Bolton could be difficult to get on with but he had enabled them to win the battle at Whispering Wood with his diversionary tactics. He had also arranged for his bastard son to take men to try and reclaim Winterfell. Lord Bolton seemed to think that he would be successful since there were only a handful of Ironborn. Robb had left him to it, hoping that he would succeed and knowing that if he didn’t that they would be in no worse state than they were now. “Well hopefully we will not have long to find out,” Robb said lightly.

As though in response to his words the flap of the tent was pulled aside to reveal Lord Bolton and Robb looked expectantly towards him. “Forgive my lateness your Grace, I was responding to my bastard, he offered safe passage to the Ironborn as you commanded, and he has Theon Greyjoy,” Lord Bolton told him and Robb took a long breath. Theon had utterly betrayed him, ransacked his home and murdered two innocent children and passed them off as his brothers. Now he was nearly in his grasp and it was almost tempting to order Lord Bolton to have his bastard transport him here to face justice. He clenched his fist, knowing it would be a reckless idea, knowing he would have to be patient a while longer. “Where?” he finally asked.

“My bastard will take him back to the Dreadfort…the Ironborn have done incredible damage to Winterfell your Grace…the repairs…” Robb held up his hand to silence Lord Bolton, not wanting to hear any more now about the fate of Winterfell and its people. “It will be rebuilt,” he said after a moment of contemplation; “it will all be rebuilt, a new dawn when this war is over. We will fix it…make the North impenetrable, stronger than it has ever been…”

“Aye!” the cry was echoed around the council tent and Robb smiled grimly. “Do we have a report from Lord Karstark?” Robb asked when they had simmered down. “There has been no trouble from the sea but he has faced some raids on the governing buildings and stores,” Lord Flint reported; “some rabbles have tried to break into the prison as you predicted your Grace but were easily foiled. Those who were caught were sent to the stocks to await your justice…”

Robb sighed heavily, wondering what he ought to do with them. Killing them seemed like too much, they were only rebelling because of the strict curfews and rations he had imposed. Letting them go free was too easy though, he did not want to be seen as a soft touch. “Keep them in stocks until they bend the knee,” he said after a moment; “and tell Lord Karstark that rations can be marginally increased, especially to families with young children. I don’t want anyone to starve but I want it known that anyone found rioting or committing offences against me or those who represent me will have their rations cut.”

“It will be done your Grace,” Lord Flint bowed his head and Robb looked around them all expectantly. “Anything else?” he asked after a moment and Dacey pulled four letters from her doublet and tossed them onto the table. “Shot down today,” she told him, “all from the Rock.” Robb reached out for them, recognising the despised Lannister lion shield stamped into the wax seals. “They will run out of ravens eventually,” he said drily, “keep at them.” Dacey nodded her agreement as Robb contemplated the letters. He opened the first, seeing the familiar plea for help from Lannister troops and the worry of supplies running low.

Robb didn’t believe for a second that their supplies were running low, nor that they imagined that he would not at least see some of these messages. They were trying to lull him into a false sense of security, for him to dismiss them as weak and become sloppy in his defence and planning. He would not fall for it, they ought to know better than that by now. The second letter read the same, as did the third and the fourth. It was almost enough to make him laugh. Almost. He crushed the letters in his hand and tossed them into the brazier, the flames springing up and incinerating them in the blink of an eye. “The smith has completed work on her Grace’s crown,” the Greatjon spoke after a long moment of silence; “would it please you to see it?”

“It would,” Robb said and the Greatjon snapped his fingers towards his own squire who came forward at once with a simple wooden box. Robb watched as he walked round the table and set it down in front of him, flicking the little catches and opening up the box. He smiled when he saw the elegant, bronze crown set in it. It was much like his but far more delicate and he could only hope that Roslin would be as pleased with it as he was. “This is fine work,” he commented, his gaze lingering for a moment more before he closed the lid of the box; “send my compliments to the smith, and have an extra few stags thrown into his payment.”

“As you wish, your Grace,” the Greatjon bowed his head. “Are there any more items for us to discuss my lords, ladies?” Robb asked them then, his eyes scanning them but no one spoke up. “I do not think there is much to discuss your Grace, now the siege has been set all we can do is wait,” Lord Cerwyn spoke up and others murmured their agreements. “Indeed,” Robb agreed, “I would propose that daily meetings are unnecessary, unless something changes or important issues are raised I see no need for such a routine. Time can be better spent drilling men or training ourselves,” he said and again agreement was made with him. “Until next time,” he said, standing up and inclining his head to them before he picked up the box containing Roslin’s crown and made to leave.

* * *

Roslin turned over the page of her book of legends that Robb had gifted her with, skimming her eyes over the page to see if this story would hold any interest to her. Some she had lost herself in, others had bored her and some she had flicked right through for no reason other than the title did not appeal to her. It was a grand book and very fine, and some of the images inside were truly beautiful. If she was honest she had likely studied them in far more detail than she had any of the words. She felt the slight breeze against her upper back which told her that Robb had returned from his meeting but for once she did not tear her attention right to him. Something on the page had caught her eye and she was reading almost hungrily now.

“I have a gift for you,” Robb said, his hands coming to her shoulders and his lips pressing to her neck. “Have you ever heard of Lann the Clever?” she asked him and she could practically feel him frowning. “One of your southern tales?” he enquired and she heard the boredom in his tone. “I suppose,” she said distractedly, reading to the end of the page and impatiently flicking it over to find more. “Is this Lann the Clever so interesting that you don’t want your gift?” Robb asked her impatiently and she squirmed slightly in her seat as his teeth lightly nipped at her throat. “Do you really have a gift or are you just trying to bed me?” she asked him, her eyes still not leaving the page.

“You doubt my word? I am wounded wife,” he growled against her neck and she couldn’t help but giggle slightly at that. “You’re distracting me,” she said pointedly and he huffed before pulling away. “Fine, finish your story…who is this Lann the Clever anyway?” he asked her and she heard the clink of cups that told her he was pouring himself some wine. “I’m not sure yet,” she said slowly, flipping over another page and biting down on her lip as she read down it. “Call me mad…” she started.

“You’re mad,” Robb said at once and she made a disgruntled noise. “But he might be able to help you,” she finished her sentence, rising up from her chair and bringing the book to him. “I know it’s just a story but they do say that many legends spring from fact and the Lannisters had to come from somewhere,” she told him, offering him the book. “What in the name of the Gods are you talking about?” he asked her with a frown, grudgingly taking the book.

“Lann the Clever supposedly took Casterly Rock from the Casterlys single-handedly, using only his wits…and if legend are true, a secret passage into the Rock itself. Once he had it in his grasp he founded house Lannister,” Roslin told him and he looked at her sceptically. She could almost see him trying not to roll his eyes as he obediently began to read the story she had just stumbled upon. “Imagine the passage were real,” she said almost longingly and he chuckled slightly. “Even if it were, I am not stripping naked and covering myself in butter,” Robb said, his brows raising as he turned over the page; “something tells me I am not quite as slight as our hero Lann.”

“Shame,” Roslin smirked slightly and a wicked grin twitched at his own lips. “Enough of your wanton thoughts wife…even if it does exist we can hardly march right up to the Rock and begin searching for it. Bolts would be rained down on us in an instant. I can’t risk losing men looking for a secret entrance that may or may not exist.”

“You could look for it after nightfall,” Roslin persisted and he sighed heavily. “Fine, I’ll indulge you a moment,” he said, “let’s say it does exist and my men discover it after nightfall by some miracle. What then? _If_ it is real it is barely wide enough for one man to slip through, let alone the thousands it would take to flood the Rock and ensure it’s take over. It’s a nice idea Roslin, and I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but I really don’t think this will…”

“If you found it you wouldn’t need thousands to slip in, less than a hundred would do. You could send one ahead to see where it came out. If Lann the Clever s _nuck_ inside I doubt it emerges in the middle of the dining hall. _If_ it exists then a small band of your men could infiltrate at night and make their way to the main gates. It wouldn’t take much to overpower the guards there and then the gates are lifted, and your army can flood the Rock. Through the main gate, a dozen abreast if you desire it,” she told him insistently and he frowned at her for the longest moment.

“Do you honestly think it exists?” he asked her and she shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know,” she said truthfully; “but what if it does and we don’t take advantage of it? If it exists then we could be home in mere months, our baby would be born at Winterfell and we could get Rickon back from Last Hearth, be closer to the Wall for news of Bran…” she used her most persuasive tone and she could see it in his eyes that he was beginning to take her seriously. “What is the harm in sending a small band of men out after dark?” she needled at him, “You can tell them it is the desire of their mad queen…”

“If I agree to this and they find nothing will you drop this?” he asked her finally and she nodded her head. “Fine,” he huffed, “I will have two groups sent out, one will start at the southern end of the rock and the other at the northern end and they can meet in the middle.”

“What if they find something?” Roslin asked at once and he narrowed his eyes at her. “ _If_ they think they have found something they can mark the ground with an arrow and it can be investigated on a following night,” he said through gritted teeth and Roslin decided she had pushed him far enough for now. “I know you think me silly,” she said, taking the book from him and laying it aside, “but at this point what do we really have to lose? Not all legends can possibly be false.”

“And not all of them can be true,” he said grumpily as she wrapped her arms around his waist, pleased when his own came around her, one stroking softly through her hair. “I know,” she agreed, sighing contentedly against him; “but you never know.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head at that; “I cannot help but admire your unwavering optimism,” he murmured against her and she smiled widely. “One of us has to retain an imagination or our poor child will have no stories to keep them entertained,” she said.

“I know plenty of stories,” he said in an aggrieved manner; “the story of Bran the Builder, of the legendary commanders of the Night’s Watch. Old Nan used to tell some absolutely incredible stories about giants and white walkers,” he was almost wistful by the end and she couldn’t help but smile again. “You are not telling our baby about the white walkers,” she told him, pulling back slightly so she could look up and meet his eyes. “But giants are alright?” he asked her and she slapped at his chest playfully. “Perhaps when they’re older,” she conceded and he grinned. “Do you want your gift now?” he asked after a moment and she nodded her head. He pecked at her lips in response before releasing his hold on her and going to the table where a wooden box lay.

“What is it?” Roslin asked him curiously, laying a hand on the small of his back as he unlatched the fastenings so he could prise it open. “Fit for a queen,” Robb replied as he opened the lid, the revealed contents making Roslin gasp. “Gods, it’s beautiful,” she breathed, reaching her hand out to touch the cool metal of the delicate bronze crown. “Then it will suit you well,” Robb said, reaching into the box to carefully lift it out. Roslin swallowed hard as he lifted it above her head, slowly lowering it down to perch atop it. “Does it suit me?” she asked him nervously as he appraised her, his eyes meeting hers as he moved his hands to her shoulders. “It was made for you,” he told her firmly, “just as surely as you were made to be my queen.”


	25. XXV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Good news is that I am back at home for the foreseeable future so updates will be more regular again.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter, and thank you to those who left kudos when I was gone - much appreciated!
> 
> :)

* * *

“You seem brighter today,” Alys said lightly as Jeyne twisted her hair back but she could sense the underlying suspicion in her voice. “Do I?” Jeyne kept her own tone light as she pinned her hair into place and began working on another section. “You do,” Alys confirmed, “and you can tell me to mind my own business but…I can’t help but notice you’ve not been spending many of your evenings in my company anymore.”

“I’ve not been with the King if that’s what you’re implying,” Jeyne said, frowning slightly and hoping that Alys didn’t think such a thing. “Of course not!” Alys sounded aghast and Jeyne felt relief and slight guilt at the same time. “I just wondered if perhaps there was someone…” Alys continued tentatively and Jeyne sighed, wondering if she should say anything. On the one hand she felt she could probably benefit from some advice about Damon, but on the other hand she didn’t want Alys to jump to any conclusions. It wasn’t as though anything had happened between them, not besides that stupid drunken kiss that Jeyne still felt mortified about. “I’m sorry,” Alys said again, “ignore me, Edmure is always telling me I read too much into things.”

“No it’s not that,” Jeyne said quickly, sliding another pin into her hair; “I’m just not sure whether…whether there is something or if it’s nothing. He’s a friend I suppose but…” she trailed off, not really sure how to define him, and unsure if she should tell Alys about the kiss. “But?” Alys coaxed her, turning around on her stool now and looking up at her now her hair was finished. “There was a moment,” Jeyne said carefully, “but then I ruined it, crying over the King.”

“Oh Jeyne,” Alys said sympathetically, rising up now and taking one of her hands. “It’s my own fault, I got myself into a state and foolishly drank too much and then -,” she cut off abruptly as the flap of the tent was pushed aside to reveal Lord Tully. “I’m interrupting,” he said at once as he looked between them but Jeyne shook her head quickly. “Of course you’re not my lord, I have just finished attending on my lady…I ought to take my leave,” she said, smiling brightly for him before moving to leave, him holding aside the canvas for her so she could step out. “If you’re sure my lady,” he said as she moved passed him. “Quite certain,” she inclined her head to him, “I will see you tomorrow my lady.”

“Of course,” Alys said, her tone slightly disappointed as Jeyne disappeared out of the tent, the canvas dropping back into place behind her. “I was interrupting wasn’t I?” she heard Lord Tully’s voice drift through the canvas and she smiled slightly, not waiting to hear Alys’ reply as she set off through the camp towards her own tent. As she passed by the men sat around one of the campfires she caught Damon’s eye and couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged on her lips. She saw a ghost of a smile on his own as she walked by him and on towards her tent. “Jeyne!” his voice called her back as she approached her tent and she turned back to him.

“You will have them all talking,” she told him, her head inclining slightly over to the campfire where several of the men were throwing curious looks their way. “And?” he asked her with raised brows; “Do you think it matters to me what they think? If I want to spend time with you then why shouldn’t I? Likely they are just jealous anyway,” he finished with a grin and she snorted slightly. “I highly doubt that,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he told her seriously and she met his eyes for a long moment before averting her own, feeling a blush coming up on her cheeks.

“What’s going on over there?” she asked, partly to change the subject and partly because she was curious as to why two bands of men seemed to be readying to leave the camp. “Apparently they’re going to scour the base of the Rock for some secret tunnel,” Damon told her, his eyes rolling and his tone exasperated. “The one that Lann the Clever supposedly used?” Jeyne frowned slightly and he raised his brows. “The very same,” he confirmed, “apparently the queen stumbled across the tale and well…the King will do anything for a quiet life.”

_Anything for her more like,_ Jeyne thought. “How do you know the tale anyway?” Damon asked her curiously, his eyes back on her now. “You forget where I’m from,” she smiled wryly at him; “I was never supposed to end up on this side, my family are sworn banners to the Lannisters, tales of the Westerlands and their legends were well read in our household.”

“Perhaps you could tell me some over some wine?” he asked her and she wondered if she was imagining the hopeful look in his eye. “You don’t really want me to tell you them do you?” she asked in return, her brows raised expectantly. “No,” he conceded with a sheepish grin; “but I would very much like to share some wine with you.” She had to fight to keep a wide smile spreading across her face, instead inclining her head in what she hoped was a demure fashion. “Very well,” she said lightly, “I’m sure I can spare some.”

* * *

“Well, the men have been sent out. Olyvar has gone with them, seems he is just as eager as you are for this tale to be true,” Robb said as he set about pouring himself a cup of wine, his eyes flickering to where Roslin was reclining in the bath. “How lovely,” she sighed in contentment, sliding down further into the steaming water. “It may take more than one night to search the length of the entire Rock,” he went on and her eyes opened lazily, blinking a few times at him as he swallowed down some of his wine. “I know you think it’s stupid,” she said knowingly, “but I know you wouldn’t have sent men out if you thought any harm would come from it.”

“I never said it was stupid,” he said slightly defensively and she raised her brows with obvious scepticism. “No, I’m certain if they do discover a secret passageway that you would miraculously become a believer and claim it was all your own idea,” she said pointedly and he couldn’t help but bark out a slight laugh. “Is my cynicism rubbing off on you wife?” he asked her teasingly then, approaching the bathtub. “I just believe in credit where it is due,” she told him as he set his wine down on the table and moved to unfasten his doublet, moving out of her sight. “If they find it then I will be sure to give you all the credit you deserve,” he promised her as he tossed his doublet aside and pulled his tunic over his head before kneeling down at the head of the tub.

“Will you now?” she asked him softly as he moved his hands to her shoulders, her head tilting back to rest on the metal of the tub as he did so. “I will,” he confirmed, leaning in close to her and pecking her lips softly before moving back and massaging his hands over her shoulders. She mumbled out her appreciation of his ministrations and he continued with them, revelling as he ever did in the softness of her flawless skin. After a time he couldn’t help but move his lips down to her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her before trailing them along her neck. “Is there anywhere I can be safe from your desire?” she asked him in a teasing tone and he nipped at her throat lightly in response.

“If you insist on bathing in my presence then you must be willing to suffer the consequences,” he replied, still trailing kisses up and down her neck, one of his hands sneaking lower down across her collarbone and towards her breast. “I’m not sure suffer is quite the word I would use,” she said, her breath coming slightly more sharply as his hand came to cup around her breast. “No?” he whispered, his lips pressing a kiss to the side of her mouth. “No,” she confirmed, her chest rising and falling more rapidly now; “perhaps endure,” she added in a teasing tone and he smirked against her lips before capturing them with his own.

She twisted her body slightly in the tub and his own hands moved to support her as she moved around so she could face him, their kiss breaking as she did so. He twisted his fingers with hers as she rested her hands on the side of the tub, sat up on her knees now with her wet hair clinging to her skin. Gods she looked so beautiful, he could barely look away from her. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” she said quietly, whispering her fingers up his arms and causing his muscles to tense slightly as she did so. “I’m thinking about how beautiful you are,” he breathed honestly, his eyes meeting her dark pools that were blinking slowly and innocently at him. He still didn’t know how she managed that; managed to be so entirely innocent and yet so seductive at the same time.

“What are you thinking?” he asked in return and she bit down on her bottom lip gently before she moved closer to him, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. “I’m thinking that I want to tell you again,” she whispered, her eyes not leaving his. “Tell me what again?” he breathed back and there was a flicker of apprehension in her eyes. “That I love you,” she said softly and he leaned forwards and pressed his lips to hers in an instant. It took all his self-control not to drag her out of the tub and to the bed, his mind racing almost as furiously as his heart. How easy it would be to pull out of the kiss and murmur those words back to her. How simple. He must love her, he _must._ There had always been that certainty about Jeyne though and now he was slowly coming to the realisation that their feelings, as intense as they had felt at the time, no longer resided inside him. No longer lingered there. _If_ he had truly loved her, surely he would still feel something. _Surely._

What if it was the same with Roslin? What if he was confusing the lust and desire he had for her for deeper feelings of love? He remembered the way his stomach had clenched when that guard had come to him, told him she was hurt. He remembered how his heart felt like it had exploded in his chest; how it didn’t seem to beat evenly again until he saw it with his own eyes that she was alive. That was real. That was inexplicably real. He tore his lips from hers. Felt her breath against them. He pulled back slightly further, his eyes meeting her gloriously dark pools. How he could drown in her eyes. Forever. How he would love to drown in her eyes. “I love you,” he said before he could think any more, trusting his pounding heart; “I love you.”

* * *

Olyvar felt blindly along the rough rock, feeling tiny crevices under his hands, small holes. Some larger holes that he could fit his hand inside but that went no further, the tips of his fingers brushing against more cold stone behind it. Most of the men feeling their way along the Rock behind him thought that this was a waste of time. Grumbled about how they were missing out on a decent night of sleep. Others were less sceptical, willing to come along because if there was even the slightest chance that this tunnel existed then they wanted to find it. Olyvar himself wanted to find it, for himself. For Roslin. For the King. For all the men who had been away from their hearth and home for far too long. Many had left behind wives, children. All any of them wanted was to go home and he knew that if this tunnel existed, if they found it, then they would be able to go all that much sooner.

A siege could take months, longer even. Olyvar knew that much from sitting in on the King’s council and speaking with the King himself in private. He desperately wanted to believe that this tunnel was real. Just as Roslin did. Roslin wanted them to find it above all else, she wanted the story she had stumbled upon to be based on fact. He wanted to find it for her, so she could go back where it was safe and give birth to her baby in some comfort and with a sturdy roof above her head. His hand scraped against a particularly jagged piece of rock as he moved along and he cursed. “You alright lad?” northern tones inquired. “Just a small cut,” Olyvar said, trying to inspect the palm of his hand and see how much damage had been done. “Should have worn gloves,” another gruff voice commented and he rolled his eyes in the darkness.

“Go ahead, we’ll catch up, I have a rag you can wrap around it,” the first Northman said and the other grumbled a little under his breath before moving passed Olyvar, three others skirting around as the last of them fished in his doublet. “Here,” he said after another moment, holding out a cloth to Olyvar. “Thank you,” he said gratefully, wrapping it around his hand and fumbling a little to tie it as he could barely see in the pitch black. The King wanted them back before dawn threatened to rise, even if they hadn’t met the second party of men who were travelling along from the north of the Rock. If they had to go back for a second night or even a third to scour every inch of the Rock then they would. It would not be a half-hearted attempt, not when there was something so potentially wonderful waiting to be discovered.

“By the Gods,” the gruff voice from before sounded and Olyvar snapped his head to him, forgetting all about his cut hand and moving quickly towards him. “What do you think? Unarmoured man could fit, I reckon…” he tailed off, his face turning to Olyvar now and frowning down on him. He had clearly been a sceptic before but now he sounded almost hopeful. Olyvar moved closer to the crack in the Rock, less than a foot wide and perhaps no more than five feet tall. He supposed it would be possible for an unarmoured man to squeeze himself into the space, but if it remained that small then he didn’t hold much hope of actually living to get to the other side of it. “Try it, we can heave you free if you get stuck,” another of the men said and Olyvar sighed heavily. He had bitten his tongue when the King had formed the parties, not wanting to speak out of turn, but the truth was that they were all far too heavily built.

Olyvar was not the slightest of men but he was compared to the Northman who were accompanying him and so he knew he would have to be the one to try and squeeze into the gap. “Very well,” he said after a long moment, fixing his eyes on the space and wondering what would be the best way to manoeuvre himself into it. Gods he hoped he wouldn’t get stuck. After a deep breath he shifted one of his feet into the space, turning his body sideways and sliding in as best he could. It felt awkward but at least his body didn’t feel too constricted. There was a little room for him to twist and crouch slightly, his foot sliding further in, his body following behind as he leant his head to the side so he wouldn’t bash it. His second foot slipped in then and he shuffled as carefully as he could in the restrictive space, praying that it would widen and heighten at least a small amount so he could make some real progress.

Almost in answer to his prayer he slipped through the gap and into a larger space. He reached his hands out tentatively, turning his body to face the front. His hands found rock quickly and he gingerly felt his way up, seeing if there was enough space for him to straighten his legs and stand properly upright again. It seemed there was and he rose slowly until he was his full height, taking a breath of relief. There was still not much space, not much room at the sides to manoeuvre and perhaps half a foot above his head. Still, there was enough. “Pass me a light,” he called back to the men on the other side, hearing them fumbling around for a minute before a lantern was quickly thrust through to him. He took it carefully, turning it to the front to see what would greet him, praying that there was a tunnel ahead and not just a solid wall of rock.

Olyvar lifted the lantern as high as he could, a burst of laughter almost leaving him as he saw that the tunnel did indeed go on. He tried not to feel too excited, to let the idea of having found a secret way in consume him but he couldn’t deny that this was something. It might prove to be nothing in the end but right now it was something, and he would cling to it unless he came face to face with a dead end. “Well lad?” an impatient voice sounded on the other side of the entrance. “It widens a little, enough for men to walk in single file once they’re through. As far as I can see with the light it goes on the same way…” he reported, hearing their disbelieving and almost excited murmurs coming from behind him. “I’ll walk on a little,” Olyvar said and they relayed their agreement, telling him they would stay put on the other side.

He moved the lantern out ahead of him, squinting down at the ground and breathing a sigh of relief when he saw no sign of footprints. No sign of any disturbance at all. Thank the Gods. Truly, if the Lannisters had known about this then they would surely have had it sealed many years ago. Slowly Olyvar began to walk, his heart pounding a little more quickly with every step he took unimpeded. The tunnel didn’t widen any more, in fact, in places it became even more narrow and he had to force his body through. At one point he actually thought he might get stuck but he managed to get himself free and continue on. After a time it seemed as though the tunnel were slowly moving off to the right and he followed the curve, keeping the lantern high above him to make sure it continued on.

After several more minutes he was almost certain that this was it. The tunnel had gone on for so long now that it surely had to lead somewhere. In his mind Olyvar had seen enough, and the King had been adamant that they had to return before dawn even threatened the horizon in case any guards spotted them. Reluctantly Olyvar made to turn around, casting his eyes back over his shoulder before he made his way back along the tunnel. Strangely the return journey seemed to take less time and it wasn’t long before he was wishing he were a foot shorter and a few inches slimmer as he snuffed out the candle and forced himself back out into the open air. “Well?” one of the Northmen asked him almost hungrily. “Well,” Olyvar couldn’t help but grin, “best we mark the ground, there is definitely something here the King will be interested in.”

* * *

Jeyne stirred awake as she heard the voices through the darkness, a frown creasing her brow as she wondered just what was going on outside. Whoever was speaking they were clearly trying to keep their voices down but she could hear enough to conclude they were excited about something. In the next moment they passed by her tent and she sighed, rubbing her hands against her eyes for a moment before she turned her head. Damon was still there, sleeping at her side as he had been doing more often than not lately. It was a little routine they seemed to have fallen into. They would share a drink and conversation and as the darkness crept in and the hour grew late Jeyne would avert her eyes and ask him to stay. He always agreed and she would be content to fall asleep in his arms, knowing that the dreams of Robb would be far less frequent with his presence.

Sometimes she felt guilty for using him just to get a peaceful night’s rest but he never complained, and he never pressed her for anything more. The way his eyes followed her sometimes told her that he would have few complaints if she were to offer him more than a companion to sleep beside. Sometimes she found herself wanting to offer but after the last time when she had made such a fool of herself she was far less willing to try again. Perhaps if enough time passed he would instigate something. She felt wanton and sinful for wanting him to as she rolled over onto her side and carefully moved herself closer to him. He shifted slightly in his sleep, his jaw twitching slightly and before she could stop herself she had reached up to carefully press her fingers to the dimple she knew resided at the corner of his mouth.

Damon mumbled slightly at her touch and her heart sped up as she thought she recognised her name tumbling from his lips. His lips that were parting ever so slightly. Before she could pull away his eyes fluttered open and she could not seem to move her hand away from his face. He blinked slowly at her and she blinked slowly back, their eyes meeting for far longer than they ever had before through the faint gloom that told her dawn would soon be breaking. Jeyne wondered if he was almost scared to draw breath the way she was as she inched herself a fraction closer to him. His head tilted downwards ever so slightly at her movement and she carefully traced his bottom lip with her index finger, his warm breath quickening against her skin as she did so. Again he moved closer and Jeyne swallowed hard.

This wasn’t like last time when she had been half full of bitterness and half of wine. She wasn’t completely drunk with her head spinning with memories of Robb. Her head was clear and Robb was pushed to the back of her mind, all their memories locked far away because she did not want him intruding on this moment. They inched closer at the same instant then and before she could second guess herself she allowed her lips to brush his lightly. Pulling back a fraction they both seemed to take a moment before Damon moved closer again and kissed her softly. Slowly. He was almost hesitant and strangely it made Jeyne want him even more. He was never hesitant. Often he would barge right into her life unannounced and be the most big-headed man in Westeros but right now she could feel it in his kiss that he was just as terrified as she was.

“Jeyne,” he breathed out against her lips when they pulled back again and she instantly leaned forward to press one more kiss to his lips. “Don’t speak,” she whispered before kissing him again, trailing her lips away towards the dimple at the corner of his mouth, her hand caressing his cheek lightly; “just hold me,” she whispered against his skin and his arms came obediently around her, almost crushing her against his body. One hand slipped up her back and came to tangle in her hair as she shifted herself so her head could bury in the crook of his neck. “I will,” he murmured against the top of her head, his lips pressing a firm kiss to her; “for as long as you want me to, I will.”


	26. XXVI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks very much for the kudos guys, much appreciated. Hope you continue to enjoy!

* * *

Roslin opened her eyes slowly to the faint light of morning, vaguely surprised that her head was still resting against Robb’s chest. Usually he would wake before her and prise her away so he could get himself ready for the day. This time though it was she who was waking first and she lifted her head slowly up so she could peek at whether he was awake or not. His beautiful eyes were still closed and she sighed in contentment as she watched his face as he slept. Like this he was so peaceful and looked so carefree, no little lines creasing his brow nor a frown threatening his lips. There was no tension in him at all at this moment and it overjoyed Roslin to see it. She shifted up even further, carefully moving away from him as her stomach churned uncomfortably. After taking a few deep breaths she shifted herself up and let the furs drop from around her.

As she got up from the bed her mind wandered to the night before. To Robb’s words. Part of her was afraid that she had dreamt them, that she had imagined the whole thing. If he hadn’t said them so many times then she thought it likely that she had imagined it. As it was she remembered it all too clearly. The look in his eyes, the slight nervousness about him and the force with which he had kissed her afterwards. When she had finally managed to manoeuver herself out of the tub he had carried her easily to the bed and made love to her more slowly and sweetly than he ever had before. As she moved to pick up her robe she could have sworn that her body was still tingling in sweet delight from the pleasure he had given her. She wrapped her robe about her and hunted out the fur lined slippers that Robb had had made for her, slipping her feet into them before she rubbed at her stomach gingerly.

It was still churning but she didn’t feel as though she would be sick. Likely that would come after she had eaten as it always seemed prone to do. Thankfully by luncheon the sickness would wear away and she could continue on as normal. She crossed to the side table and poured a cup of water before turning and intending to pad back to bed and slip in beside Robb again. It was not to be though as Olyvar’s voice hissed through the canvas before she could make a move; “your Graces?”

Robb grumbled a little in his sleep and Roslin wondered if she ought to wake him. If Olyvar was here this early then likely something would have happened. News most likely. Gods she hoped it was from the scouting parties that had gone to the Rock, she hoped they had found something. “A moment Olyvar,” she called back softly before she moved to pick up Robb’s robe and take it to him. Seating herself next to his sleeping form she couldn’t help but gaze at him for a long moment before she moved her hand to shake his shoulder gently. His eyes flew open in a moment and she saw the panic swiftly evaporate from them as he set them on her.

“Have I slept too long? What is it?” he asked groggily and she smiled down on him. “Olyvar is here,” she said simply and he groaned, his hands coming up to rub at his face before he sat himself up, taking the robe she offered with thanks. Roslin got up then and Robb kicked the furs away at once. She couldn’t help but admire his bare body as he stretched himself awake before throwing the robe about his shoulders and tying it around his waist. “Come in Olyvar!” he called out as he moved to the side table and poured himself a cup of water.

Olyvar entered in the next moment and Roslin recognised the excitement in his eyes at one. “Did you find something?” she asked him almost hungrily and he was nodding his head enthusiastically at once. “Seriously?” Robb said disbelievingly before she could utter another word; “What? Where?” Robb’s own expression was that of longing now and Roslin smiled slightly as she realised that he had been hoping something fruitful would come from the search as much as she had been. “A tunnel your Grace,” Olyvar said gleefully, “it is difficult to push into at first but it is possible for men of my build and smaller to cut through in single file.”

“By the Gods,” Robb looked astounded, Roslin’s own eyes wide with disbelief. “Did you follow it all the way?” Roslin found her voice first and Olyvar shook his head. “I didn’t want to linger but I followed it a good way, it is possible it goes all the way into the Rock your Grace, I am certain of it,” Olyvar was looking almost pleadingly towards Robb now and Roslin felt relief when she saw him slowly nodding his head in agreement. “You will go out again tonight with more men and discover where it leads to, would you gather the lords Olyvar so we can discuss it?” he asked.

“Of course your Grace,” Olyvar could barely supress the glee in his voice and it made Roslin smile, her brother inclining his head and winking at her before he took his leave. Robb turned to her then and her smile widened before she could stop it. He was before her in an instant, his hands coming to cup her face as he leaned in and pecked at her lips; “you, beautiful, clever, wife,” he growled out between kisses and she couldn’t help but giggle, her hands coming to rest on his forearms as he continued to smother her cheeks and lips with kisses. “This could truly be it,” he said wonderingly, “and Gods if it is,” he placed his hand onto her stomach and met her eyes; “if it is then I will get you back to Winterfell before the baby comes.”

“Don’t say things like that, not yet,” she cautioned him, “not until we’re certain. Even if you take the Rock you don’t know what the Lannisters may throw at us next.” Robb’s expression darkened at that and for a moment she was worried she had angered him. Before she could apologise though he clutched her close, his lips pressing firmly to the top of her head. “Whatever they have planned you know I will never let them touch you again, don’t you?” he murmured and she nodded against him, feeling another kiss pressed to her head as she did so. “I know,” she voiced, “I know you will keep me safe, I have no doubt Robb.”

“Good,” he sighed and she heard him take a deep breath before releasing her from his clutches, a slightly disappointed look on his face. “I ought to get ready for the lords,” he said and she nodded her agreement, moving to reclaim her cup of water as he hunted out his clothes. “Who will you send into the Rock if it is possible?” she asked him as she watched him dress, seating herself down and sipping on her water. “I don’t know,” he replied, pulling on his boots, “I haven’t thought of it yet. Obviously I cannot send whoever I please, from what Olyvar said size will have to be a consideration.”

“You will not be going then,” she said, her eyes fixed on his as he fastened up his doublet. “No I will not,” he confirmed with a swift smile and her knotted stomach seemed to ease slightly. “What about Olyvar?” she asked then and he paused in what he was doing to look at her for a long moment. “Would you rather he didn’t go?” he asked in return and she swallowed hard. “It’s not my decision,” she said quietly, “but I don’t want to lose my brother…”

“I will not order him,” Robb said, coming closer to her and laying his hand down on her shoulder. “But?” she guessed, looking up to meet his eyes. “But you know him better than me,” he said with a slight smile, “do you really think he will want to stay behind while others go when he was the one who discovered the tunnel’s existence?” Roslin sighed heavily at that, shaking her head slightly as Robb raised his brows. “No,” she finally said in a dull voice and he squeezed her shoulder slightly. “As I said, I will not order him, but if he offers I will not refuse,” he told her and she nodded, “try and cheer up Roslin, this is what you wanted after all.”

“I know it is, and I am pleased…but you know as well as I do that there is still much to do,” she said and he knelt down in front of her to better meet her eyes. “And it will be done, all that needs to be done to get us and our family home will be done. And that includes Olyvar,” he said firmly, his eyes not leaving hers and she couldn’t not believe him. “Thank you,” she whispered and he nodded slightly before leaning in and capturing her lips. “I really ought to go now, I will send Ser Damon to you,” he said, kissing her once more before rising up. “I’ll be here when you get back,” she smiled for him and his own lips twitched up before he made his way out of the tent.

* * *

“What if this tunnel is just some dead end, some trap?” the Greatjon was as sceptical as ever and Robb sighed heavily, the weight of his crown coupled with the constant negativity was threatening to pull his head down to the hard table. “Olyvar reported that there was no sign of anyone else having used the passage for the Gods know how long,” Robb said for what felt like the thousandth time and his old general began muttering darkly under his breath. “What do we have to lose?” Robb asked him.

“Lives,” he replied drily and Robb tried with great difficulty not to roll his eyes. “We will lose countless more if Tywin Lannister comes from the Capitol with the Tyrells. They will be bound soon enough once Joffrey marries Margaery, then there will be nothing stopping them uniting their men against us. If we already hold the Rock then there is precious little they can do but negotiate with us, for Sansa’s return and the North,” Robb told them all firmly and he was pleased to see that the majority of his lords were nodding in agreement with him. “And what if it doesn’t lead into the Rock at all?” the Greatjon raised his brows and Robb shrugged his shoulders.

“What if it does and we ignore it?” he replied simply and the older man finally let out a great sigh and nodded his head. “How many would you send in?” Dacey asked at once and Robb bit down on his lip, his eyes sliding to Olyvar’s for a moment. “We can’t send too many since we don’t know where it comes out…perhaps a dozen men tonight, just to establish where it leads to,” Robb suggested and there were murmurings of agreement. “And if it leads into the Rock, when do you propose we infiltrate?” Lord Flint asked him.

“As soon as possible,” Robb answered and there were nodding heads up and down the length of the table. “Once we have the Rock it will have to be sealed, or guarded at the very least if sealing it isn’t possible,” Lord Bolton spoke up and it was Robb’s turn to nod. “Aye, I agree there my lord. The last thing we need is our own advantage being used against us,” he said; “Dacey, would you put together a party of a dozen to scout the passage tonight. I expect a full report in the morning,” he finished, rising up from his place at the head of the table and trying to avoid Olyvar’s gaze. “Aye your Grace, it will be done,” Dacey agreed and Robb thanked her warmly. “I think that’s all my lords,” he said then to mutterings of agreement and others shifting from their own seats.

“Your Grace,” Olyvar spoke up before he could leave and Robb closed his eyes despairingly before he turned to face him. “Yes?” he asked, knowing what his good-brother would ask of him and hoping that Roslin wouldn’t be too upset. “Would you allow me to go with the men? I have already been some of the way down the passage, I could assist Lady Dacey in choosing men of the right stature…” Olyvar trailed off looking hopeful and Robb sighed heavily. “If you wish it I will not deny you, I’m sure Lady Dacey will be glad of your assistance,” he said and Olyvar thanked him warmly before looking expectantly towards Dacey.

Robb made a swift exit then before anyone else could ask anything from him, stepping out into the hustle and bustle of camp. Several sparring matches were going on and Robb walked slowly through the camp, throwing out a greeting or a few words of encouragement here and there, thinking that he ought to soon return to Roslin. If he were quick he might managed to make it back in time to share luncheon with her. His eye was caught by Ser Damon near Jeyne’s tent as he crossed towards his own and he frowned, hoping that it did not mean what he thought it did. The last thing he needed was his wife confronting Jeyne and causing upset to herself. He had told Jeyne to stay away from him and Roslin, but he had not thought to tell Roslin to stay away from Jeyne.

As he drew closer though he realised that it was in fact Ser Damon in conversation with Jeyne and no sign of Roslin. He frowned at that. What was Ser Damon doing here with Jeyne when he had specifically ordered him to guard his wife? He cleared his throat as he approached as they showed no sign of noticing him. Ser Damon snapped his head around at once, dropping into a short bow when he saw who had interrupted him. “I assumed you with the queen,” Robb said pointedly but the man seemed unabashed. “The queen had no more need of me, Lord and Lady Tully came to have luncheon with her,” Ser Damon reported to him and Robb nodded curtly. “I did say I would oversee the lads sparring though,” Ser Damon continued, his eyes flickering between him and Jeyne; “your Grace, my lady,” he nodded to each of them in turn, his eyes lingering on Jeyne as he did so.

Robb couldn’t help but notice the little smile playing about Jeyne’s lips and the way her eyes followed Ser Damon’s progress as he sauntered through the camp towards the sounds of clashing swords. “Him?” Robb said before he could stop himself and Jeyne turned her attention to him, her eyes narrowing slightly. “What about him?” she asked him sharply. Defensively? “There is something between you?” Robb questioned her, seeing a light blush appearing on her cheeks that all but confirmed it to him. “Forgive me your Grace, is that any of your business?” she asked.

“It is my business if he is wooing you when he is supposed to be guarding my wife,” Robb said and she smiled slightly, something almost like a snort leaving her. “I hardly think a conversation is wooing,” she said, turning to examine her fingernails, “and he would never leave the queen unprotected as you well know. You just don’t like him.”

“What makes you say that?” Robb asked her and Jeyne really did snort this time, her eyes rolling. “It is as plain as the sun in the sky. I imagine the queen likes him very much, is that what gets to you?” Jeyne asked him and he huffed, folding his arms across his chest. “I thought so,” she said triumphantly, amusement dancing in her eyes. “It’s not that I don’t like him,” Robb said slightly defensively, “he’s just a little…” he trailed off, struggling to find the words. “Vulgar?” Jeyne supplied and he nodded, smiling slightly. “I suppose,” he agreed.

“Not all men have a sweet way with words,” she told him then and he nodded again in agreement. “He must have some way with words for you to consider him,” Robb eyed her carefully and saw her blush again, her eyes averting from his. “Beggars cannot be choosers,” she said lightly and he stepped slightly closer to her. “Jeyne -,” he started, coming to lay a hand on her shoulder but she shrugged him away. “Leave it Robb, I like his company, are you happy now?” she shot at him.

“Yes,” he said, for some inexplicable reason he wanted to laugh; “I may not like him but if you do then good…I’m glad for you Jeyne, truly I am.” He went to lay his hand on her shoulder again and this time she didn’t shrug him away, turning her head slightly and smiling shyly at him. “I’m glad for you too,” she said quietly, “I know how I must have seemed the other day, all bitter and twisted about everything but it’s been hard for me. Not just seeing you with her but listening to the men and their vile words…it’s not so bad now, they’ve seen how much time Damon spends with me and I think they’re rather scared of him.”

“I should have put a stop to it, you should have told me, I would have,” he said meaningfully and her lips twitched up again. “Told you in front of the queen?” she questioned him with a raised brow and he sighed heavily. “Trying to keep it from her was pointless, she knew all along,” Robb told her and her brows shot up even higher. “Gods,” she said and Robb imagined it was likely the only thing she could think to utter. “Indeed,” he said wryly and she eyed him for a moment, her gaze searching. “Have you told her yet?” she asked.

“Told her what?” Robb frowned slightly and it was Jeyne’s turn to sigh heavily. “That you love her,” she said, as though it were glaringly obvious. “Jeyne, I -,” he started but for the second time she cut him off. “Never mind feeling guilty, have you told her?” she asked him expectantly and he nodded his head, not quite brave enough to say it out loud. “Good,” Jeyne said and he raised his brows slightly, seeing her features completely relaxed; “I told you all I wanted was for you to be happy and I’m glad you can be with her. I might not always have been quite so calm and accepting of it all but I _am_ glad you’ve told her, and I wish you all the luck of the Gods.”

“Thank you Jeyne,” he smiled properly for her and her own eyes lit up at his gesture; “I’m sorry, for how I was the other day…” he trailed off awkwardly, cringing as he remembered how harsh he had been, telling her to leave him and Roslin alone. “You were angry with good reason, there is nothing to be sorry for. We have cleared the air now, have we not?” she asked with a raised brow and he nodded his agreement. “I wish you all the luck as well, with Ser Damon,” he inclined his head to where the man was clearly pretending to help the lads spar as he was spending the majority of his time spying on Robb and Jeyne’s conversation. “Thank you,” Jeyne smiled for him again, “I have a feeling I may need it…”

* * *

“You’re quiet tonight,” Jeyne commented as she moved to top up the wine in Damon’s cup, adding some to her own before she settled down again. “What did the King want before?” he asked her and she frowned slightly at his brisk tone of voice. “He only came over because he saw you,” she said slightly defensively and he looked up to meet her eyes. “And he stayed because of you,” he returned and she frowned at him, not liking the way he was speaking to her. “Do you have something to say to me?” she asked him, her own tone growing heated now.

“Why did you kiss me last night?” he demanded and her eyes widened, that had not been what she had expected. “I…” she started, not even sure what she would say, all the things in her head sounded mortifying, and likely would be should she say them out loud. At her hesitation Damon drained his cup of wine and slammed it down on the table, making her wince slightly. “Forget it,” he snapped at her before he pushed away from the table and got to his feet, making at once for the flap of her tent. “Damon wait!” she jumped up from her own chair and grabbed hold of his arm, causing him to round on her. The suddenness of his movement and the blazing look in his eyes had her backing away slightly from him. “What has got you like this?” she whispered.

“I don’t want to be a pawn in whatever game you’re playing with the King. If you are using me to make him jealous and lure him back to you then you ought to know it won’t work, and it isn’t fair!” he shot at her and she didn’t know whether or not to slap him or laugh at him. “You think that’s what I’m doing?!” she asked him incredulously, a half laugh escaping her; “Do you think I’m that foolish? That pathetic?! Gods Damon…if you really must know what we were speaking of then I’ll tell you. We were talking about you! Gods…I wished him happiness with the queen…and he wished me the same…with…with you…” she trailed off at the end, her voice faltering and her eyes dropping to the ground.

“Truly?” Damon asked her, his voice coming softer now and she plucked up the courage to raise her head up again. “Ask me again,” she whispered and he looked confused for a moment before he took a few steps closer to her. “Why did you kiss me last night?” he asked her quietly, his eyes almost afraid as he looked down on her. “Because I wanted to,” she whispered back, holding his eyes; “I w _anted_ to _._ ”

It only took the blink of an eye for him to close the gap between them, his hands clenching around her hips as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Their lips came together in a furious kiss and Jeyne was absolutely ravenous for him, her body almost screaming out for satiation. It was hard to remind herself that it was a sin as Damon steered her back towards the bed. She had sinned before. What was a little more? What was one more time when it felt this good? Before she knew it she was pinned down against the bed, his heavy weight above her, almost crushing the air from her lungs as their frantic kiss continued. One of his hands travelled up to clamp in her hair and Jeyne felt as though she could barely breathe anymore, somehow managing to wrench her lips from his.

Her chest was heaving and Damon pulled back, his eyes lust-filled as he looked down on her, his own breathing ragged against her lips as he hovered mere inches away. She said nothing, and neither did he, but something changed there in the storminess of his eyes. Something she didn’t quite have a word for. “We shouldn’t do this,” he whispered after another moment and she swallowed hard, tears immediately welling up in her eyes. “I thought you wanted me,” she whispered back before she could stop herself, “I thought it didn’t matter to you that I’m not -,”

“Jeyne, no,” he cut her off shaking his head and moving his hand from her hair to her cheek to brush away a tear that had leaked from her; “I want you more than I have ever wanted anyone. That’s why I can’t…I can’t treat you like he did, I can’t be with you as he was…” Jeyne’s brow creased at that but before she could open her mouth to question him anymore his lips were pressing insistently against hers again. “I want you so much I can barely stand it,” he whispered against her lips when he pulled back again; “but I will not give those men reason to call you a whore.”

“What are you saying?” she breathed as his hand stroked down her cheek again. “I’m saying that I want you, properly,” he met her eyes and she swallowed hard; “I want you to be entirely mine but I know that it will take time for you to feel the same, but when you do Jeyne…I will be more than ready for you.”

“Don’t leave,” she whispered, the only words she could find as his eyes met hers with an intensity that almost scared her. “I won’t,” he promised, his eyes not wavering from hers for a moment. “I don’t care what they say about me…so long as you and I know the truth that is all that matters,” she said, her own hand sneaking up and running down his cheek softly. He merely smiled in response, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead before shifting to her side and pulling her against him. She melted against his embrace, tangling her legs with his as they enveloped around one another. “I do want you Damon,” she murmured into his chest, “so much so that sometimes it scares me.”

 


	27. XXVII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos - appreciate it all so much!  
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter!  
> :)

* * *

Robb woke with a start, his arms empty and her head missing from his chest. He sat bolt-upright, his pounding heart slowly coming to beat again more normally as he saw her sat up at the end of the bed. Gods. He ran his hand through his hair and tried to remember the dream that had caused such fear to rise up in him but it was slipping away now that he was awake and fully aware again. Slowly he inched himself closer to Roslin, moving the furs she had draped around her further around her shoulders as she leant back into his embrace. “What is it?” he murmured in her ear before he placed loving kisses to her cheek. “I can’t sleep,” she said quietly.

“You’re worrying about Olyvar,” he said knowingly and she nodded her head as he drew her further against his chest, his hand coming up to stroke through her hair. “I didn’t wake you did I?” she whispered and he shook his head, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he cradled her against him. “No,” he confirmed with a sigh and she turned her head so she could look up at him. “Is something bothering you?” she asked and he smiled slightly. She always knew. “I can’t help but feel like this is all going too well for us, that we’re pushing our luck,” he said.

“If anyone deserves luck it’s you and your family. Are you worrying about your mother?” she asked softly and he swallowed hard. “Yes,” he said honestly. He knew there was no need to worry, that she wouldn’t even have reached Riverrun yet, but the thought of her never getting there chilled him to the bone. Gods he was glad he had made the decision to keep Roslin here with him, his arms clutching her even more closely to him and her own hands coming to wrap around his forearms. “I’m sure she’ll be alright,” she said quietly, “just try and think about how happy she will be to set her eyes on Arya again.”

“Yes,” Robb said again, with more conviction this time, before he pressed yet another kiss to the top of her head; “you know Olyvar will be fine, they are only scouting where the passage ends up. Under no circumstance are they to enter the Rock, even if that is where it leads.”

“Do you think it does?” she asked, shifting herself around so she was half facing him, her eyes shining even in the darkness. “I pray it does,” he murmured, moving his hand to sneak between the furs draped around her so he could lay it on her stomach; “because I want this war over and both of you safe behind the walls of Winterfell where no one will ever touch you.”

“And I want you behind those walls with me,” she said, meeting his eyes, “Robb I know you’re worried, and you’re struggling with what you think is the right thing but please…please promise me that you won’t send me away. I don’t think I would be able to bear it and I don’t want to do this on my own. I want you with me, I want you to see me grow, to feel our child moving and growing strong inside me. Please don’t send me from your side…”

“I won’t,” he promised her, selfishly he knew but still he promised her, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers. She responded almost hungrily and he wondered what caused her sudden change in mood. Before he knew it she had turned fully in his arms and was shrugging away the furs around her, her hands snatching at his shoulders as she pulled herself astride him. His body responded to her in an instant as it always did, his hands smoothing down the soft expanse of her back and pressing her closer to him. She wrapped her own arms around his neck and tangled her fingers in his hair as she kissed him even more furiously, her hips bucking against his own and causing a groan to leave him.

“I love you,” she gasped when she pulled away from his lips, his own coming to trail down her neck before he lavished her shoulder with attention. “I love you,” he murmured against her skin, “Gods I love you,” he almost groaned as she shifted her hips up so she could slide down onto the length of him. Her hands snatched him back towards her as she began to rock her hips slowly, her eyes meeting his as she moved herself above him. Gods she looked perfect in this faintest of lights, his eyes having to work even harder to see her in all her glory. Her lips were parted slightly and her breathing was becoming more and more uneven as she rocked into him over and over.

His own was just as laboured as he concentrated on her eyes and the delicate skin of her brow as it creased slightly in that sweet agony that always came across her face when they were one like this. Her pleasure was so great that it almost pained her to reach it; that is what she had whispered to him one night as they lay tight in one another’s arms fighting to regain their breath. _Such a sweet pain, such an indescribable pleasure._ He loved to make her feel that, to satisfy her entirely the way she always satisfied him. It was addictive. Needy. Ever so gratifying and it was coming closer now as she allowed a moan to escape her lips, her head tilting back and exposing her glorious throat to him. He could do nothing but lean forward and press delicate kisses all down her skin, his hands running up her back and pressing her even closer as she began to come undone.

Each of her breaths came sharply now and she clung to him as she kept moving her hips back and forth, burying his length entirely inside her each time. He was so close to his own release now but he begged his body to hold on as he felt her beautiful warmth closing even more tightly around him. She mumbled something incoherent, her nails pinching into his shoulders as an almost agonised cry left her mouth. Her body seemed to lose some control then and he moved his hands to her hips to keep her moving, to prolong her pleasure. Her thighs twitched around him and her head dropped to his shoulder as she gasped out desperately. Gods she was closing in so tightly now that he himself could barely breathe but still he kept pulling her into him and she clutched him even closer.

Her body trembled against him in the next moment, her frame shaking in his arms as she gasped out against his shoulder, her nails finally unclenching from his skin. He was spent as he pulled her onto his length entirely once more, his own breathing erratic as he pressed firm kisses to her shoulder, tasting the slight tang of her skin which he wanted more than ever to devour. “I can’t be without you. I can’t,” she panted out after the longest time and he wrapped his arms more firmly around her. “Never in this lifetime,” he whispered and she tightened her own hold on him; “I promise you Roslin.”

* * *

“You know I hate this,” Jeyne said, meeting Damon’s eyes as he fastened up his doublet. He merely smiled in response, moving closer to the bed where she was knelt and leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. “You know I have to go, it wouldn’t be right for anyone to catch me leaving your tent. You know what conclusions they would come to and I won’t be the cause of them to be any more vile to you,” he told her in response and she smiled, moving to lean her hands on his forearms as his rested on her shoulders. “And you know I appreciate that,” she held his eyes, tightening her grip on his arms; “but it doesn’t mean I don’t hate this.”

“Me too,” he sighed heavily before he leaned in and hesitantly pressed his lips to hers. She wished he wouldn’t hesitate. She was sick of hesitating. “I won’t break,” she whispered against his lips and he frowned slightly; “you can kiss me properly, I won’t break.”

“If I kiss you properly I will never leave,” he murmured before he pecked her lips once more, a wide smile adorning her face when he pulled away. “Damn,” she said softly, “you foiled my plan.” He chuckled lightly at that before wrenching away from her to pull on his boots. “It won’t be much longer,” he said meaningfully when he was fully dressed and ready to leave; “once we take over the Rock we can be together properly, if that’s what you want…no more sneaking around.”

“It is what I want, I just hate that we have to wait,” she grumbled and he grinned. “You know I thought I would have to do more to persuade you…” he said shaking his head slightly and she moved herself up off the bed and padded towards him. “You have been so wonderful to me, did you really think I would hesitate?” she asked with a raised brow and he shrugged a shoulder. “Perhaps,” he said, “sometimes I think I barely know anything that goes on in that head of yours.”

“You think too much, I’ve told you everything…it’s like you said before, I can tell you anything and you won’t be shocked. Everything that happened with Robb it…” she hesitated slightly before she went on, Damon’s fingers curling around a lock of her hair as he waited; “it was wonderful,” she swallowed hard, “but I made a choice, and I chose to put his honour before my own. He had to marry the queen lest he lose this war and I had to let him go. And yes, it was hard, the hardest thing I have ever had to do and I confess that sometimes I look at him and I see everything that could have been. But I don’t ache for it the same way anymore, I don’t pine for him the same way anymore because I have you…because I _want_ you.”

“I do not think I will ever tire of hearing you say those words,” he murmured before he snatched at her waist, pulling her flush against him and capturing her lips in a kiss that was deepening almost at once. She clutched him closer, wishing that he wouldn’t leave, wishing that they could stumble back to bed and wrap themselves up in furs and one another. She much preferred being in his arms but he was determined not to let their ever increasing desires win out over propriety. “What happened to my vulgar knight?” she whispered against his lips when he pulled away. “He met a proper lady who taught him chivalry,” he whispered back.

“I taught you no such thing,” she muttered and he chuckled, brushing his lips against hers once more. “Who said I was talking about you?” he said in response and she slapped her hand against his shoulder as he grinned at her. He released her from his hold in the next moment and moved to the flap of the tent and she followed him as he pulled it back slightly to make sure that no one was outside. “Damn,” he cursed, pulling back and dropping the canvas back into place. “Who is out so early?” she asked him curiously, it was barely dawn. “The party from the Rock have returned,” he answered her.

“Do you think they found anything?” she asked, her eyes widening. “We can only hope so,” he said, “for all our sakes. I suppose we will have to wait until the King has met with them, then we’ll know for sure.” Jeyne nodded her agreement and he reached his hand over to stroke soothingly through her hair. “This will all turn out right in the end,” he said and she couldn’t help but smile at the conviction in his eyes. He turned back to pull the canvas aside again and this time he slid out of her tent. “See you at breakfast,” she murmured through the canvas. “I can’t wait,” he replied and she smiled slightly as she heard the soft padding of his footsteps retreating away from her tent.

* * *

Roslin pushed her food about on her plate, her eyes darting towards the entrance of the tent, that she had asked Robb to tie open, every now and again. “He’ll get here when he gets here,” Robb told her in a slightly exasperated manner, “they would not have returned until near dawn, likely he’s still asleep.” She merely scowled at her husband and moved her eyes to the entrance again, a smile lighting up her face as she saw Olyvar approaching. “Shows what you know,” she said pointedly to Robb and he rolled his eyes at her as she jumped up to her feet; “come right in Olyvar!” she called through the entrance to him and he did as she bid, bowing shortly to her and Robb before he approached the table.

“Well, did it lead anywhere?” Robb asked him and Olyvar nodded. “Into the Rock,” he said and Roslin let out a little laugh of disbelief as Robb’s eyes widened. “We thought we’d hit a dead end but the passage merely took a sharp turn and once we followed it that way we came out in some disused stores. At least we think that’s what they are,” Olyvar reported, “there were steps leading upwards, no doubt to kitchens or something but we can get into the Rock your Grace!” he was gleeful by the end and a wide smile was stretched right across Robb’s face as well. “By the Gods,” he murmured, “well done Olyvar…would you gather the lords for me? After that you may do as you please, get some rest, I can do without you for the day.”

“Thank you your Grace, would you permit me to stay for the council beforehand?” Olyvar asked and Robb chuckled lightly. “If it please you,” he said with a smile and Olyvar grinned, bowing shortly again to them both before he turned to leave the tent. “Can you believe it?” Roslin whispered gleefully to Robb, stretching her hand out across the table to take his. “No I cannot,” he squeezed her hand tightly before lifting it up to press a kiss to the back of it; “I will not, not until Stark banners flutter above those battlements.”

“And they will,” Roslin said determinedly and he nodded faintly to her before dropping her hand and rising to his feet. “Can I come?” she asked him as he picked up his crown from the side table and placed it atop his curls. “If you wish it,” he replied, “though I do wish you would eat some more of your breakfast.”

“Breakfast doesn’t agree with me anymore,” she said dismissively, rising to her feet; “or rather, the baby doesn’t agree with breakfast,” she corrected herself and Robb chuckled, turning to face her and sliding his hand over her stomach. “I may be imagining it, but I swear you feel different,” he breathed, rubbing his hand soothingly against her. “Perhaps,” she smiled at him, laying her hand atop his to still it against her; “you know…I thought I felt it last night. The baby moving, I mean.”

“Truly?” his eyes were wide and hopeful and she smiled at him, nodding her head in confirmation. “Truly,” she said and she could see the joy etched across his features. He leant in and pressed a firm kiss to her lips, pulling away from her far too soon and causing a disgruntled sigh to leave her as he turned away. When he turned back though she smiled as he raised her own crown above her head before settling it gently atop it. “Am I fit for council now?” she asked him teasingly and he smiled, tucking a lock of her hair back behind her ear. “Well if you we do not head to council I am likely to drag you back to bed,” he leant in and murmured in her ear making her feel weak at the knees.

“I would have precious little complaint,” she said back to him and he pressed a kiss to her temple before pulling back and offering her his arm. “Later wife,” he practically growled at her and she couldn’t help the wide smile that stretched across her face as he led her through the entrance of their tent and towards the council meeting. The lords had already been gathered in the short time that Olyvar had had before they had made their way here and the Greatjon almost pounced on Robb as soon as they entered the tent.

“Is it true lad?!” he burst out excitedly, forgetting all his propriety as he grinned expectantly at Robb. Despite his age he reminded Roslin of a small child on their name day at this moment in time and it made her smile. “Aye, it’s true,” Robb chuckled and his general let out a booming laugh, thudding his fist on the table with such force that it made Roslin jump slightly. “Fucking Lannisters,” the Greatjon snorted, “think they’re so high and mighty in that Rock, think they’re untouchable…we’ll fucking show them – pardon my language my queen,” he added sheepishly, catching sight of Roslin at Robb’s side.

“No pardon necessary my lord,” she smiled sweetly at him, “I grew up at the Twins, believe me I heard far worse before I knew what any of it meant.” The Greatjon snorted at that and Roslin caught Olyvar’s eye, sharing a knowing smile with her brother as some of the others in attendance tittered in amusement at her words. “Well that aside, the Greatjon is right,” Robb said smoothly, making his way to the head of the table, his assembled lords bowing shortly to him and Roslin as she trailed in his wake; “they do think they’re untouchable, and it’s up to us to show them that that couldn’t be further from the truth. We take the Rock and the North is as good as ours.”

“Aye!” his lords seemed to awaken as one, more fists bashed on the table as they all settled around it, the Greatjon moving down a place from his seat on Robb’s immediate right to make way for her. Roslin inclined her head gratefully to him as Robb pulled out the chair for her, not moving to take his own place until she was settled. “When do you propose we infiltrate your Grace?” Lord Flint asked Robb as soon as he took his place and she looked to her husband expectantly. “Tonight,” he said with finality and her stomach clenched painfully; “when the sun rises I want it rising over the banners of house Stark.”

“And so it shall,” the Greatjon said triumphantly from her side and Roslin did her best to smile at him. “What is your strategy your Grace?” Lord Bolton asked from the other end of the table and Roslin turned her eyes to him. He was the only one of Robb’s lords who unnerved her and she was glad he was placed so far away from her. His eyes were always cold, calculating. He was her husband’s bannerman though and so she had no choice but to endeavour to be polite to him whenever the occasion arose. “Fifty men will infiltrate the Rock, their aim is the gatehouse. By whatever means they will take it over and secure it before raising the gates to us. There must be no way that Lannister reinforcements can get into the gatehouse and lower them again before we get through,” Robb said calmly and many nodded their agreement.

“We will still need to ram the doors,” Lord Cerwyn stated and Roslin swallowed hard, turning her attention back to Robb. “Simpler without iron gates in our way,” Robb replied simply and a few around the table chuckled slightly. “Could the bars be raised to help us, or would it draw too much attention?” Maege Mormont asked and Robb considered her for a moment. “That is a decision that the men inside will have to take, either way we will be prepared to break down the doors,” Robb said after a moment. “They will try and ambush us from above,” Dacey said and Robb grimaced.

“We will work as swiftly as possible, and we will give as much protection as we can to those manning the battering ram,” he said and Dacey seemed satisfied with his answer, nodding her head in agreement. “What about the protection of the men inside?” Roslin asked before she could stop herself, her eyes darting to Olyvar for a moment before she moved them to fix insistently on Robb. “What do you mean?” he frowned.

“Well, the passage is narrow…how will they be armoured?” she asked him and realisation dawned on him, his eyes now flickering towards her brother as well. “Light mail could be worn beneath clothing but nothing else, we would never fit through the initial entrance with armour on,” Olyvar spoke up and Roslin closed her eyes in despair at the word _we._ She had guessed that Olyvar intended to be one of the men to infiltrate the Rock but now it had been confirmed to her, and, worse, she now knew that he would barely be protected. “If it is the only way,” Robb said softly and she moved her eyes to his, seeing his silent apology.

“Men need to be chosen to infiltrate, we need men who are small in size but capable with the sword,” Robb said, “and it wouldn’t hurt if they had an element of stealth about them as well,” he added wryly and several smiles twitched up about the table. “I would like to volunteer myself your Grace,” Olyvar said and Roslin couldn’t help but narrow her eyes at him. “If this were to go wrong then the queen’s brother would be a valuable hostage your Grace,” Dacey spoke up and Roslin wanted to scream out her gratitude to the woman. “I would wear nothing that identifies me as a man of the Twins,” Olyvar spoke up and she had to repress a snarl; “and I swear, I would rather die as their hostage than betray my King, or my sister,” he finished and despite her anger with him she couldn’t help but be touched by his words.

“If you are certain Olyvar then I would not speak up to dissuade you,” Robb said, “though the queen may try,” he added and Olyvar grimaced slightly, his eyes flickering to her for a moment. It took a minute for Roslin to realise that people were watching her expectantly, no doubt waiting for her dissuading words and she cleared her throat, meeting her brother’s eyes. “I would prefer you didn’t put yourself in such a position,” she told him clearly, not moving her eyes away; “but I know you’re set on this so I will say nothing against it. Just know I will pray for you and your safety, and the safety of the other men in your company.”

“Hear, hear,” the Greatjon clapped his hands together beside her and she swallowed hard before turning her head and smiling at him. “Well,” Robb said after another moment; “am I to assume we are all in agreement?” he looked around the table and no one spoke up against him or displayed any outward sign of their disagreement. “Good,” Robb said, a satisfied smile spreading across his face; “then best we prepare well my lords, ladies,” he inclined his head to Maege and Dacey Mormont; “because Casterly Rock falls tonight.”


	28. XXVIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who left kudos, much appreciated!
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter!

* * *

It was pitch black as they made their way to the Rock, Olyvar was the third man to press himself into the crevice and straighten up in the tunnel. The two already inside were lighting torches and passing them back along the line. Every tenth man would have a torch, and so the first of them took his and set off. When the next man came through the crevice Olyvar handed the second torch to him and set off after the other two. It wasn’t long before the man behind him caught up, and Olyvar could hear plenty more sets of footsteps joining them as they weaved their way through the passageway. Still he could not quite believe that this were real, that they were meandering their way right under the Rock to take it from under the Lannisters’ noses.

“Bearing right,” he heard the man at the front murmur and he knew from the scouting mission that it would only be another fifteen minutes before they emerged into the old stores. He swallowed hard at the thought, his hand seeking out the hilt of his sword before he could help himself. He was not the worst swordsman in the world, but he knew well enough that he wasn’t the best. There were far more skilled men in the King’s army, but unfortunately size was very much a consideration. Being smaller may well come in handy for them when they made their way inside anyway. Olyvar tried to focus on the positives as he continued placing one foot in front of the other, determined not to think about how pale Roslin had looked when he had walked away from her.

He could almost still feel how tight her embrace had been before he had gone with the men. The King had embraced him too, to his surprise, bidding him not to do anything foolish. Olyvar had no intention of dying, but neither did he have any intention of hanging back and letting the other men take all the glory. If he ever wanted to earn his knighthood then he would have to prove himself worthy of it. Being the King’s squire and sister to the queen would not be enough. He wanted to earn his knighthood, not be given it because he was good-brother to the King. “Slow up, keep quiet, we’re near the end,” the leading man spoke up again and the message was relayed down the line of men. Olyvar was near silent as he followed the first two men round the sharp bend that they had almost mistaken for a dead end.

A breath of relief came from him when he joined them in the openness of the stores. The passageway didn’t frighten him, but he could not deny that he much preferred being in a more open space. Slowly all the men trickled through, and when the last of them assembled they looked towards their commander. Dacey Mormont had been placed in charge, she was not small for a woman but she was still able to squeeze her way through the passage. “Doubtless the door at the top of these steps will be locked,” she told them all quietly, her voice echoing slightly in the vast space. “We must break it down as swiftly and as quietly as we can,” she continued, “we can only hope that it comes out in a remote and rarely used part of the Rock.”

Murmurs of agreement came quietly around her and she nodded, a determined look in her eyes. “You two, with me,” she beckoned to two stocky looking men and they followed her at once. Up the steps they went and Olyvar held his breath as the unmistakable sounds of a door being forced reached his ears. It felt like forever, but in reality he was sure it had only been a few minutes, before Dacey’s voice called down for them to make their way up. They found themselves in another narrow stone passageway when they reached the top. Dacey ordered their flames extinguished, and then she ordered a cross be drawn onto the door they had come from with the burnt ends. Once that was done they followed her down in single file, all with their hands ready to draw swords at any second.

They went through more passageways and up more stairs, leaving markers along the walls so they could find the secret entrance from the inside when it was over with. The King wanted it all blocked up and guarded but to do that they would have to remember the way down. Thankfully Dacey appeared to have already thought of that. She halted them at the top of a wider flight of stairs and Olyvar could see why. Their surroundings had changed ever so slightly, become a little bit grander and the air around them seemed that little bit warmer. He would be willing to bet that the kitchens and the servants’ quarters were on this level of the Rock. If that were the case then he imagined they would have to go a few flights higher to reach ground level and the gatehouse. Dacey seemed to be of the same thinking as him as she gestured upwards with her forefinger before heading off again.

On the next floor they heard voices, hands gripping around swords before they realised they were sounding in the next hallway. From the murmured whispers and giggles Olyvar could only assume that they had overheard a lovers tryst. Dacey guided them onwards, up another narrow flight of stairs that ended in a door. This one didn’t have to be forced and she gestured them out in small groups, directing them a short way down the hallway and into an empty room. It looked like some kind of parlour, comfortable enough but not as grand as Olyvar had imagined. Likely it was used by the steward or someone else in service of the Lannisters who was not of noble birth. There was a window though and Dacey crossed to it at once and pulled back the drapes a fraction, a smile lighting her face.

“Courtyard,” she said quietly and Olyvar felt his own lips twitch upwards. “Can you see the gatehouse?” one of the men asked her and she nodded after a moment. “Four outside on duty,” she reported, “up on the lower ramparts I can see another two.” Four men in their party were bowmen and Olyvar glanced towards them, seeing them already fingering their weapons. “Deal with the ones on top from afar, then silence the four by the gates,” Dacey said. Agreements were murmured and she dropped the drape back into place. “Then we make our way inside, deal with those who may stand in our way. After that, we raise the gates. If any of them manage to sound a warning bell we may be in trouble…but there are enough of us to hold them off long enough for the army to pour in,” she said, and again there were murmurs of agreement.

“Jon, Geric, you know what you must do,” Dacey nodded towards two of her men and they nodded. “Then get to it,” she said, “and good luck.” The two bowed shortly before inching from the room. They were to head up onto the ramparts and set a signal for the assembled army to be ready. It was supposed to be lit as far from the gatehouse as possible so that if any Lannister soldiers spotted it then they would be drawn further from the conflict. Once they had disappeared Dacey signalled for the rest to follow her, inching as quickly as they dared down the hallway. They reached an outer door and raised the bars as silently as possible. Dacey peered through the keyhole, holding up two fingers. Two guards. Olyvar swallowed hard. Before he could blink the door was wrenched open.

There was a tiny, muffled cry from one of the guards but nothing else as steel kissed the men’s throats before they could sound any alarm. “Quickly,” Dacey ordered and they all darted out, Dacey and one of her men wiping their bloodied blades against their breeches as another closed the door quietly behind them all. “Archers,” she nodded up to the lower ramparts and the four archers took aim, two for each man. Olyvar tried to watch the progress of the arrows but it was too dark. He did however see the two men on the ramparts slump below the parapet as though the strings holding them up had suddenly been cut. He took a breath, his nerves suddenly rearing up as he realised just how close they were to achieving their goal. They had _infiltrated_ the Rock, with fifty men. It was absurd, but he had no time to dwell on it as they were heading swiftly towards the gatehouse.

One of the guards turned, clearly sensing or hearing them, but before he could get out half a word a sword had swiped the air and almost severed his head. The second found himself at the mercy of two of the Northmen and Olyvar watched on in awe as Dacey sliced her way through the other two before he could do more than blink. His own sword was still clean and unsheathed, though as he glanced around he saw that his was not the only one. He could hear the men within the gatehouse trying to barricade the door but over half a dozen men fought their way through. Olyvar glanced up at the ramparts and towards the main doors of the keep nervously as the steel clashed inside the gatehouse. Thankfully no one appeared, and there was no sound of a warning bell, only the sound of dying men.

“Got two of ours the bastards,” Dacey spat as she re-emerged from the gatehouse. “Get these bodies inside,” she directed and Olyvar moved to help with one of them. “You two stay here, knock twice if you see anyone coming,” she directed to two other men, the rest of them piling into the gatehouse. “Let’s do this,” she said when the door was closed and everyone allowed themselves a moment of triumph. The Northmen were moved together, blankets laid over them. By contrast the Lannister guards were dumped in a corner, no one sparing them a glance. “Barricade it, if anyone gets through, kill them,” Dacey ordered and men moved to throw whatever they could in front of the door. “The gates have to stay open,” she continued.

When she was satisfied that they were well barricaded she turned her attention to the lever that controlled the gate mechanism. “You want the honours Frey?” she turned to Olyvar and he started. “Me?” he asked, feeling all eyes on him. “You discovered the tunnel, and without the queen we wouldn’t have known to search in the first place,” she said, “as her brother, it seems only right.” He could only nod then, stepping shakily forwards and placing his hands on the lever. “Do it,” Dacey said softly and he obeyed her at once.

* * *

Roslin had done her best to stay composed, smiling serenely at the squire who wasn’t Olyvar who had come to help Robb into his armour. She had stood perfectly straight and perfect at her husband’s side as he and his men had stared out towards the Rock in the darkness. Somehow she had managed to stay still and serene as the horses were saddled up and ready. She even managed a smile for Lord Bolton, who would be leading in the second wave of men. It was an honour for him, and something Robb had only grudgingly bestowed on him because he had asked. He had wanted it to be the Greatjon, but since Lord Bolton had garrisoned Harranhal, sacrificed two thousand of his men and reclaimed Winterfell from the Ironborn, he felt as though he couldn’t refuse him.

It was when the bright, burning flame appeared on the far right of the tallest ramparts that she swallowed hard, a trace of fear visible on her face. When Robb had moved away from her to call out for his men to ready themselves, his armour clanking ominously as he stamped up and down the lines. She tried to stay still and unaffected but it was difficult, even with Ser Damon’s hand coming to lay on her shoulder reassuringly for a moment. Robb turned back to her as his men organised themselves and she forced a smile for him. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he had seen right through it as he approached her slowly. His own eyes were set and determined as he walked towards her, his hands already reaching out for her to place her own in his. It was now she really had to steel herself, now as she looked into his eyes with thousands of his men able to see them.

“Be safe,” she said simply, her voice beginning to crack. “Just you wait, when dawn comes the sun will rise to reveal Stark banners atop those walls,” he told her, “and I will send for you as soon as it is safe.” She nodded at that and he squeezed her hands tightly before leaning into her and pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I love you,” he breathed against her skin and she closed her eyes tightly to stop the tears from falling. “I love you too,” she managed to get out, her voice shaking even more. “I beg you, try not to worry,” he urged her quietly, “for both of your sakes.” His eyes drifted towards her stomach and she nodded her agreement, though she did not know how she would be able to relax with him gone. “A few hours is all,” he said certainly, his blue eyes shining with conviction. “A few hours,” she agreed with him, nodding determinedly.

He smiled at that before he tugged on her hands and pulled her into a crushing embrace. Roslin didn’t care that his lords and half his army could see them, she didn’t care about anything but his arms around her as she tilted her head up to press her lips to his. He kissed her back hungrily and she imagined that he too didn’t care about those assembled. When he pulled back there was a determined look about him and she knew that this was goodbye. _For now,_ she reminded herself, forcing her lips to turn upwards as he dropped her hands and backed away. His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned heel and stamped towards where his own horse was waiting at the front of the charge. She wished he wouldn’t put himself in such a position of danger but she knew that he would never hear of sitting back during a battle.

Robb prided himself on being a king who was not afraid to get his hands dirty. He fought with his men because that earned their respect more surely than any pretty words that came from his mouth. At least that was what he always claimed and Roslin had never thought to question him on it. She took a deep breath as she watched him mount his horse, swallowing hard as he called out again for everyone to be ready. Her heart was pounding in her chest as the minutes trickled by as though they were hours in length. After what seemed like a lifetime Robb called out again, his voice so commanding and king-like and ever so different from the soft tones he would murmur to her in their time alone. That alone was enough to terrify her, almost as much as the words that came from his lips; “the gates are rising – charge!”

* * *

They thundered towards the Rock as quickly as their horses would carry them, Grey Wind bounding along happily at Robb’s side. Robb urged his own mount onwards, seeing the gates slowly rising up in front of him. It was hard not to smile as they galloped ever closer, cries of delight leaving some of the men that were surrounding him. He couldn’t blame them. This could well be it for them, the capture of Casterly Rock could likely mean the end of the war. Could mean them all going home. He thought of Roslin. Of Winterfell. He knew there was much work to do to reinstate it to its former glory but it would be done, and he was certain that his wife would adore it as much as he did. Roslin didn’t want for grandness and trinkets and jewels as other queens might. She just wanted to go home, and to her that meant Winterfell, a fact that made Robb’s heart swell with joy.

He averted his mind from her as they came ever closer to the Rock, the gate now almost fully risen and lifted high enough for them all to be able to ride through into the courtyard. He knew little about the layout, but he knew that his men could flood the Rock and secure it easily once they were inside. The main keep was the most important thing to secure. Once that was done the rest could be explored and any remaining Lannister loyalists rooted out. He knew it was near empty of soldiers, his own army had seen to the destruction of part of their forces. The Blackwater, he knew, had devastated their numbers further. They may now have an alliance with the Tyrells but they were not here in the Rock and Kevan Lannister had taken over a thousand men with him when he left for the Capitol. Perhaps they had expected him to march on King’s Landing? Admittedly it had been his first thought, but after Stannis’ loss he had rather lost faith in the idea.

Fifty feet away and the thick doors beyond the gate began to open slowly. This time Robb could not suppress the burst of laughter that escaped his lips. How could it possibly be this easy? For a moment he faltered, a little needle of doubt niggling at his stomach. Perhaps it was too easy? Was it possible that they were being lured into a trap? He pushed it away. He didn’t see how it could be possible. How could the Lannisters possibly know that they had found a secret way in? How could they possibly know that they would take the Rock from the inside? Even if there were men lying in wait they would be hopelessly outnumbered by Robb’s forces. The only thing they had here to defend against him were high, thick walls, and he was about to ride through them.

In mere seconds he was under the gate, the clap and clatter of hooves following him through. He caught sight of the two men who must have opened the doors as he rode through them, a grateful smile on his lips for them as he inclined his head. He would discover their names later, and they would be rewarded, just as the others who had infiltrated the Rock would be. It was no less than they deserved. He rode right into the vast courtyard, leading his men in a circuit of it, calling out to them to be aware, to look out for ambushes from above. There was no sign of one though, nor of any other resistance spilling from any of the doors surrounding the huge open space. Perhaps they would just meekly surrender without any guidance from their lords?

It was when he pulled up his horse and looked towards the gatehouse that he knew something was wrong. Those inside had clearly come out, no doubt thinking, as he had done, that it would all be over in a matter of minutes. There were clashing swords though and cries of wounded men and worry stirred deep in Robb’s chest. Lord Bolton and his men were pouring through now. The Greatjon would soon follow, surely whatever Lannister resistance was being put up would soon be quelled. Robb kicked his horse into motion again but it was impossible for him to get anywhere near the gatehouse as Bolton’s men were flooding through the gates. Likely they would deal with it, if his own men were not already doing so.

As he glanced towards the gate again he saw it lowering and his eyes widened. “The gate!” he shouted out. “Raise the gate!” he demanded, but all he heard in response was the unsheathing of more swords. The clash of steel on steel. The screams of the injured and the dying. Panic set deep in him. What the hell was going on? He couldn’t work it out, where was the resistance coming from? He couldn’t even see any sign of Lannister soldiers. Desperately he looked up, wondering if they were striking from the ramparts above. There was no sign of them and he looked back towards the gatehouse, a sick feeling of realisation creeping into him now. There was no Lannister resistance. His heart sank. His own men were turning on him.

How could he not have seen this coming? Why would they be doing such a thing? He had never particularly favoured Bolton, and he wished more than anything that he had trusted his gut and not given him control of the second wave. It was too late now. Much too late. His own loyal men were confused, and their confusion made them easy prey for the turn-cloaks. Too many he saw hacked down before he managed to find his voice through his utter disbelief. “Bolton!” he screamed out, “Traitor!” At that everyone seemed to spring to life. His own men bellowed orders to one another, several he heard shouting to get to the gatehouse. Robb could not disagree. If they could only take back control of the gatehouse then they would be able to raise them again. No doubt the Greatjon would take the ram to them, but that could take time that Robb and those loyal to him did not have. Grey Wind bounded into the fray and Robb soon lost sight of him, though he could hear his snarls and snaps as he tore through the traitors from the Dreadfort.

Bolton had a few hundred more than him in his garrison but Robb knew that they were more than evenly matched. The trouble had come from the surprise attack, so many of his men had fallen before they had even known what was upon them. Robb vowed in his mind, as he guided his horse around and swung his sword into a traitor’s neck; that he would make Bolton pay for every one of their deaths. How he would do it he did not know, but he would. He determined it. As he swung his sword again and again, his mind began to work out Bolton’s plan. He could only guess at the man’s reasoning but he could imagine that a great reward from the Lannisters was on the table. No wonder he had offered to retake Winterfell. He hadn’t been offering for Robb, he had been wanting to claim it for himself and be named Warden of the North.

Likely the plan had been to shut out the Northern forces and massacre those inside, King included. Then Robb supposed they would just have to wait, sealed up in the Rock, until Tywin Lannister brought the Tyrells down from the Capitol and put the rest of his loyal army to the sword. He thought of Roslin and he almost choked, his swing faltering. They had already tried to kill her once, and now it was not just her life they would take. His thoughts of losing her and his unborn child made him lose concentration for a second. It was enough, it was enough for his horse to take an arrow in the flank. He reared up and Robb could not hold on, crashing down onto the stones of the courtyard. He coughed heavily, trying to breathe as he pushed himself up. Gods, he was winded badly and his leg was shot through with pain, but he was hopeful he would be able to get back to his feet.

He rolled over onto his back, intending to push himself back up but a boot slammed into his chest and sent him thudding back to the ground. Thankfully his helm prevented him from losing consciousness, such was the force of the blow. The man above him raised his own visor and Robb felt anger coursing through his veins as he looked up into the triumphant face of Roose Bolton. Before he could say a word Bolton rammed his sword down hard, the screech of metal giving way piercing Robb’s ears. He spluttered, gasping out in pain and surprise as he felt the steel in his gut. Bolton wrenched the sword free and place the tip of his blade above Robb’s heart. “Roslin,” Robb choked out, if this were to be his end then he would die begging mercy for his wife. The words wouldn’t come though, and Bolton’s lips twisted into a nasty smile. “Don’t worry Stark,” he hissed, “I’ll be sure to send the queen your regards.”

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger, I know it is positively evil. I will update again in a few days I promise!
> 
> Could not resist that final line though...
> 
> :)


	29. XXIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the kudos - much appreciated. I do have some explaining to do though, so bear with me...
> 
> There were some comments that questioned Roose Bolton's motives for betraying Robb so I thought I'd have a go at explaining my thinking! I know Bolton is smart, but smart people can make rash decisions and if he allied with Tywin whilst at Harrenhal then he was getting ahead of himself. Whilst there all he had to go on was updates on Robb from his "spies" in camp. Given that many people assumed Robb would marry Jeyne (thus losing the Freys), it follows that Bolton could have been of that belief as well and assumed his chance was coming. Obviously Robb didn't, but it is now too late, Bolton has entered a deal with the devil, so to speak. Knowing that backing out or going back on his word will likely end with Tywin coming for blood is probably a pretty good motivation for continuing with the plan. After all, we know what Tywin does with traitors.
> 
> So, it comes to the Rock and he sees an opportunity. It may or may not work, but he's running out of time and part of him is probably spurred on by his want for control of the North for himself (I believe he's waited a long time for this). Get Robb to let him lead in the second wave of men, seal the Rock and kill those inside. Any Lannister soldiers would aid him, and Tywin would come down from the Capitol and take the rest of the northern army. After all, they wouldn't just jump to the conclusion that Robb had been betrayed, for all they know the Lannisters could have had a retainer of men waiting for him. Their plan would still be to take the Rock, as their king wanted. Where it all falls down for Bolton is the speed with which Robb moves thanks to the discovery of the tunnel. He knows it will now take longer for Tywin to come from the Capitol because he can't give him advanced warning. You could say he is stuck between a rock and a hard place. He goes through with it anyway, hoping he can succeed in overwhelming Robb's men inside and sealing the rest out until Tywin gets there. 
> 
> That was my line of thinking for him anyway, sorry if that was long and boring! If you still think I made a mistake then I can only apologise but there you have my motivations. I hope that it doesn't put you off the story either way, and that you can continue to enjoy, even if you might not agree with all my decisions. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I know it was a bit of a ramble!
> 
> :)

* * *

The howl of the wolf pierced the slowly lightening sky and Roslin was up off her feet and running to wrench aside the flap of her tent. She heard voices try to caution her but she didn’t stop. The howl of the wolf ripped right into her heart and she knew instinctively why. They were not howls of joy and victory. It was a howl of anguish. “Robb!” she screamed, knowing he wouldn’t hear her. Knowing he was too far away, perhaps too far for her to even hope to reach him ever again. It wouldn’t stop her trying though. She pushed on, running as fast as her legs would carry her towards the Rock. The men ordered to stay behind and guard her called out again and again for her to stop but none of them dared make a move to physically impede her progress. Other footsteps were behind her but she ignored them. She needed to get to her husband, she needed to know how badly hurt he was. Was it just a graze?

She wanted to laugh at the thought. As if Grey Wind would be howling in such a heart-wrenching way if Robb had merely been scratched. It was bad. _Fatal._ She pushed that thought away. Robb couldn’t die. He wouldn’t. He had promised to come back for her, promised that it would be easy. She had reached the edge of camp now, the last few rows of tents looming before her and beyond that acres of open space before the Rock loomed up. Just as she crossed the invisible line of the encampment she was caught around the waist. She fought against whoever had her, trying to scratch at their arms but finding them covered with mail and gauntlets. “Let go of me,” she snarled, twisting her body in the man’s grip; “you unhand me now, I am your _queen!_ ”

“And I am tasked with keeping you safe,” it was Ser Damon’s voice who answered her but still she struggled against him as he dragged her back a few feet. “Let go!” she demanded again, but her voice was breaking now. The howls had stopped. What did that mean? Did that mean he was still living or that he had gone? Roslin just did not know and she had to. She _had_ to know. “Robb,” she choked out, her voice breaking now as she imagined a life without the man she loved. Her knees buckled but Ser Damon kept a hold on her, allowing her to sink slowly to the ground rather than just collapse. He knelt with her, his hold slackening but not releasing her entirely as she broke down in tears. “You need to stay calm my queen,” he murmured, and she could hear the restlessness of the other men around them. “Think of your child,” he urged her.

That sobered her. She forced the rising sobs down, choking on several of them before she managed to regain enough of her composure to rise back up to her feet. She was still shaky and she took the arm that Ser Damon offered so she could steady herself. The men they passed by on the way back to her tent looked troubled, sympathy shining in their eyes as they gazed at her. Her hand went to her stomach which was now a tiny swell. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough that Robb had wondered over the change in her. Remembering that made her want to break down and cry again but she took a shuddering breath and forced herself onwards. Ser Damon led her right back into her tent and moved to pour her a cup of wine. “I can’t,” she shook her head, holding her hand up when he offered it to her. “It makes me sick,” she elaborated.

He drained the cup in one himself and she stared at him. “Would be a shame to waste it,” he said and she almost managed a smile. “I thought you didn’t drink when you were supposed to be guarding me,” she said and his lips quirked up. “Forgive me,” he said simply and she swallowed hard, meeting his gaze for a few moments before she dropped her eyes to her entwined hands. “I have to know what’s happening,” she murmured and he took a few steps closer to her and knelt before her. “Whatever news comes my queen, you must remember what the King willed,” he told her and she lifted her eyes to his. “He can’t leave me,” she whispered and a pained look crossed his features. “You and his child were,” he started, shaking his head; “ _are,_ ” he corrected himself, “the most important things to him. Your safety is the priority, and as such it is mine. Now please, promise me you will not think of running to the Rock again.”

Roslin nodded slowly, taking in his words and knowing that he spoke sense. Robb would be beside himself if he knew she had stepped out of the camp alone. “I promise,” she whispered and he hesitated slightly before laying a hand on hers. “Good,” he said, and she could hear the relief in his voice at her agreement. “How long will I have to wait?” she asked him almost desperately and she could see it in his eyes that he had no answer for her. “I don’t know, my queen,” he shook his head, “but I will stay with you until word comes, I promise.”

* * *

Olyvar limped along as quickly as his leg would carry him. He had taken an arrow to the back of his shin but that was the least of his worries at this moment in time. The last hour was a complete blur but finally things seemed to be falling into some kind of order. He had just seen Roose Bolton led away in chains, Lord Flint and several of his men thundering through the gates to escort the Maester. They hadn’t trusted any Maester at the Rock and Olyvar prayed that their delay in getting him skilled treatment would not be something they lived to regret. The wound to the King’s stomach had not been enough to kill him, though it was deep enough for him to have lost far too much blood. He had been unconscious and deathly pale when the Greatjon had lifted him himself and carried him into the keep.

Now he was in one of the bedchambers on the ground floor, the Maester having just hurried inside to tend to him. Olyvar had been with the small party at first but his damaged leg had meant that he had quickly fallen behind. His head was spinning as he dragged his injured leg along behind him. He still could not believe the betrayal, and he knew that it was supposed to have ended with the King’s death and the massacre of his men. When he thought about what would have happened to his sister…he shuddered. The remaining men out in the camp would be sent for soon. With the King unconscious the Greatjon was in charge and he was determined to get everyone shut up in the Rock before the Lannisters came. He was convinced, and Olyvar agreed with him, that the Lannisters and the Tyrells would likely soon be bearing down upon their camp.

Olyvar dragged himself around the next corner and was pleased to see several men milling around outside one of the chambers. This had to be where they had borne the King. Without a word he limped passed them and let himself into the room, his eyes finding the Greatjon stood at the end of the bed. The older man turned at Olyvar’s entrance. “How is he?” he asked at once. “Still alive,” came the Greatjon’s gruff response. “Thank the Gods,” Olyvar said and the Greatjon nodded, his eyes drifting to Olyvar’s leg. “You alright lad?” he asked and Olyvar nodded. “Just an arrow is all.”

“Maester will see to you when he’s sorted the King,” the Greatjon said, “and don’t argue with me,” he continued as Olyvar opened his mouth to protest. “I think the queen will have enough to contend with without her brother losing his leg,” he finished and Olyvar nodded obediently. “Once I know he’s going to hang on I’ll take my own men down to the camp and escort her here,” the Greatjon continued and Olyvar nodded again. “Though I wonder if I ought to write to the Wall…give some kind of warning…in case…” he trailed off, clearly not wanting to say the words out loud. _In case the King dies._ “There is no need,” Olyvar piped up, “the queen is with child.” He hoped that Roslin would not be angry with him for revealing it as the Greatjon sighed heavily and nodded his head. “She will be regent, won’t she?” Olyvar questioned him and he nodded again.

“Aye,” the Greatjon confirmed, “myself and the lords will obey her whilst the King in indisposed, but all military matters are to be decided by me.” Olyvar understood well enough what that meant. Roslin may be queen, but they were still at war, and every major decision at this time was a military one. “My sister knows more that you would credit her with,” Olyvar dared say, “don’t forget, she is the reason we hold the Rock.” The Greatjon nodded his head again at that, another heavy sigh leaving him. “Aye, I know that lad,” he agreed, “but I don’t think the queen will have much patience for council with the King in the condition he is.”

Before Olyvar could respond the door banged open again and they snapped their heads around to see who had entered. “How is he?” Lord Tully demanded at once. “Will he live?” Neither Olyvar nor the Greatjon could answer that question so all three men turned to look at the Maester who had just straightened up. “He has lost a lot of blood,” the Maester reported, “I have cleansed the wound and stitched it. It was not so deep to cause lasting damage but it will have him abed for weeks at least. I believe his Grace may also have broken his leg in the fall from his horse, I shall be able to splint it with help. Some of his ribs are also bruised, it will be a lengthy recovery for him, and not an easy one.”

“But he will live?” Lord Tully asked impatiently, taking a few more steps towards the bed and resting his palm against the King’s forehead for a moment. “So long as there are no complications, a fever or an infection,” the Maester told them and Lord Tully nodded, contemplating his nephew. Olyvar also looked towards him, seeing him lying there pale and unmoving. Roslin would be beside herself. As he thought of her Lord Tully spoke up again; “Has anyone informed the queen?”

“I did not think a message would be the best way,” the Greatjon replied, “I was planning to take a guard back to camp to escort her here.” Lord Tully nodded rather distractedly, looking between the Greatjon and the King for a moment. “I will go,” he finally said, “she is kin to me now after all, best you stay here my lord and ensure the greatest protection for the King and the queen.”

“As you wish my lord,” the Greatjon inclined his head; “I can only assume that the queen will want to be housed near the King. I will seal this wing off and have guards stationed on all available entrances. The queen has her own guard but given what has happened here I think it might be best for it to be increased.” Lord Tully nodded his agreement at that, resting his arm lightly on the unmoving King’s shoulder before he moved to leave the room. “Wait, I’ll come with you,” Olyvar spoke up, “Roslin will need me when you tell her.”

“As much as I agree, you are injured, I think she would rather the Maester take care of your leg,” Lord Tully told him and Olyvar opened his mouth to argue. “Lord Tully is right,” the Greatjon said before Olyvar could utter a word; “it will be difficult enough for the queen to contend with the King’s injury without her worrying about you as well, best you’re patched up before she arrives and then you can be of real comfort to her.” Grudgingly Olyvar nodded at that and Lord Tully managed a ghost of a smile, inclining his head to Olyvar and the Greatjon before he swept from the room.

* * *

When the sound of hooves thundered into camp Roslin was on her feet again at once. This time Ser Damon made no move to keep her in the tent, merely following close behind her as she made her way out to see who had arrived. She saw Lord Tully at the head of the party and she tried to gauge from his expression what had happened. As she made her way towards him Alys flew out of her own tent and into her husband’s arms. Roslin tried not to envy her that as she ventured closer. On seeing her, Lord Tully prised his wife away from him at once, his attention fixed on her now. Roslin swallowed hard as he bowed down low to her before straightening up and fixing his eyes on her.

“My queen -,” he began, but Roslin was too impatient to listen to formalities and the inevitable skirting around the edges of the issue. “Where is Robb?” she demanded, “I know something has happened to him – tell me.” Lord Tully inclined his head, shifting slightly from foot to foot before he answered her. “Lord Bolton betrayed us,” he told her and she gasped. “His forces lowered the gates once they entered the Rock, closing out the rest of the army,” Lord Tully explained, “we have no doubt that he meant to kill Robb, and all those loyal to him. Our best guess is that he was in in league with the Lannisters, was promised the North in exchange for an end to Robb’s rebellion.”

“Did he succeed?” Roslin asked him in a tiny voice, Ser Damon’s heavy hands coming to rest reassuringly on her shoulders. “Robb was thrown from his horse in the attack,” Lord Tully told her, “Bolton succeeded in wounding him. He has lost a lot of blood but the Maester has stitched his wound. He also has a broken leg and bruised ribs, it will be months most like before he will be on his feet again. There is still a risk of infection but…but the Maester seems of the opinion that he will live.”

That was all Roslin needed to hear. Her hands clasped to her mouth in relief, tears springing from her eyes as she swallowed down a sob. “Thank the Gods,” she managed to choke out, Ser Damon’s grip on her shoulders tightening for a moment. “I need to be with him,” she said then, shaking her head and wiping her eyes hurriedly. “Of course, my queen, Lord Umber is already seeing to it that a wing is sealed off for you and his Grace,” Lord Tully bowed shortly to her. “What about the rest of the men?” she asked, remembering what else he had said; “If the Lannisters are truly coming with the Tyrells then we need to pack up camp and move everyone into the Rock.”

“Don’t worry my queen, it will all be seen to,” Lord Tully assured her and she nodded, placated for now. “Good,” she said distractedly, taking a few calming breaths. “I can have some of the serving girls gather your things if you would like to go right to the Rock,” Alys spoke up softly and Roslin nodded at once, grateful for her suggestion. “Thank you Alys, that would be most kind,” she said and Alys stepped forwards at once and pulled her into an embrace. “It’s alright,” Alys soothed her, “he will be alright, he is a Northman, and Northmen are made of stern stuff – just ask my father.”

Roslin could have laughed at that if her throat were not so constricted with emotion. As it was she managed to choke out her thanks to Alys. “I will gather the Queensguard,” she heard Ser Damon say, Lord Tully voicing his agreement and calling for a horse to be saddled up for her. Roslin clung to Alys for another few moments, summoning up all her courage and her queenly poise before she pulled determinedly away. “Thank you,” she whispered again and Alys nodded, a smile coming to her face. “I will leave men behind to escort you with the belongings and the remainder of the army,” Lord Tully promised his wife, leaning in to press a firm kiss to her lips. “Don’t worry about me, just see the queen safely to the Rock,” Alys said in return.

“Are we set?” Ser Damon had returned, the rest of her Queensguard stood firm behind him, and Roslin looked towards Lord Tully who nodded his head. At that they all moved towards the waiting horses. Ser Damon moved to help Roslin up onto her own before moving to mount the one next to her. Before he could though Jeyne was hurrying towards them and Roslin couldn’t help but narrow her eyes slightly. Ser Damon looked at her apologetically before he moved to halt Jeyne before she could get any closer to the departing group. “Is it true?” Roslin distinctly heard her ask, “The King is injured?”

“Yes, it’s true,” Ser Damon said and Roslin saw her blanch; “I’m escorting the queen, likely you will come later when the camp is all packed up.” Roslin watched the familiar way in which he brushed a lock of Jeyne’s hair back behind her ear, her narrowed eyes widening now. “I ought to come with you,” Jeyne said and Roslin had to bite her tongue, knowing that if she opened her mouth now she would never be able to take the words back. She did not want Jeyne Westerling in her party, she did not want to be bothered with thoughts of her when all her focus should be on Robb. “I think it might be best if you wait here,” Ser Damon told her, his voice lowering; “think of the queen…”

“You think I want to go and see the King?” Jeyne hissed at him furiously. “Why else?” Ser Damon asked and Roslin watched her shrug away from his touch. “I want him to be alright, of course I do,” she said, “but seeing as the Maester will no doubt be concerned with him there will likely be other injured men who will require medical attention. If I stay behind and wait for the others then lives could be lost, I don’t want that on my conscience, do you?” Ser Damon didn’t answer at once and Roslin closed her eyes in despair. This wasn’t merely about her. Jeyne was right, there would be other injured men who would need looking after while the Maester was tending on Robb. There was no point in making this personal. She was queen. She had a duty of care to her subjects.

“Come with us,” Roslin said before she could stop herself, seeing the surprise etched on both of their faces as they turned to her. “The men will need you,” she said simply before she turned firmly away from her. It was another minute before Ser Damon was hauling himself up on the horse next to her, sending her a smile that was half grateful and half apologetic. Lord Tully turned in his own saddle then; “are we ready?” he asked and Ser Damon inclined his head. With that heels were dug into horses and they all set off at a trot towards the Rock. When they were within plain sight the gates began to rise up and Roslin’s heart was pounding furiously as they moved ever closer. As they passed under it and into the courtyard she couldn’t help her eyes being pulled to the bloodstained cobblestones.

Her stomach churned but she forced a deep breath, willing herself not to be sick. She was queen, and with Robb incapacitated it was her in command. The lords would hardly take her seriously if she grew sick at the sight of blood. She need to be fearless. She needed to be strong. Ice. Ser Damon helped her from her horse when they pulled up and she made sure to hold her head up and walk tall and proud. The last thing the men needed to see was a defeated and emotional queen. She would hold it together while she was able to be seen, once alone she would likely break down but right now she willed herself to stay strong. Lord Tully bid her follow him and she did so at once, the clank of her Queensguard following on behind them.

They moved through several hallways along the ground floor, guards stationed seemingly every twenty feet along the walls. It seemed Lord Tully had not been wrong when he said that the Greatjon was sealing off one of the wings. Another few minutes found them approaching a heavily armed door and she knew at once that this was the chamber that Robb was housed in. Lord Tully came to a halt in front of it and inclined his head to her. Roslin met his eyes, swallowing hard before she inclined her own head and pushed open the door. She took a deep, shuddering breath when her eyes found him, stripped to the waist and bandages wrapped from his hips all the way up his ribs. The Maester was bent over his leg as she approached, cutting away the leather of his breeches so he could better assess the injury to his leg.

“My queen,” he stepped away from Robb and bowed deeply as he noticed her arrival. “Do not stop on my account, please,” she told him and he moved to resume his work at once. She averted her eyes again, stepping slowly towards the edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on the still features of Robb’s face. He looked so pale. Too pale. She supposed that were due to the loss of blood. Her fingers reached out to lightly trail along his arm as she perched herself next to him, unable to tear her eyes away from his face. Slowly she reached her hand up to cup around his cheek, stroking her thumb lightly against his rough stubble. After a moment she leant forwards and pressed her lips to his forehead, beyond thankful that she could feel his skin warm under her kiss.

“I love you,” she whispered against him, “and I promise you, I will make sure everything is how it should be when you wake. Don’t you worry about a thing, just you get better for me,” she trailed her hand down to find his, moving it to lay against her stomach. “You get better for both of us,” she murmured to him, pressing another kiss to his forehead. Behind her she could hear the Maester in hushed conversation with Lord Tully but she didn’t bother trying to listen to what they were saying. If it were important she assumed they would inform her, right now she couldn’t focus on anything but her husband, her eyes again moving to fix on his sleeping face.

Lord Tully excused himself after a moment and Roslin managed a weak smile for him before he let himself out of the chamber. Both her hands clasped around one of Robb’s then, her eyes finally moving to the Maester, watching as he gently felt the length of Robb’s calf. “Is it broken?” she asked him after watching him for several minutes. “I’m afraid so my queen, but thankfully it is a clean break,” he told her and she nodded her agreement. “Can you fix it?” she asked after another minute, seeing him carefully straightening his leg out. “I believe so, with a good splint and strict bed rest it will likely heal, but it will be a slow process,” he told her, “I will splint it when help arrives.”

Again Roslin nodded, before turning her attention back to Robb, her eyes flickering between his face and the steady rise and fall of his chest. She didn’t look away from him until the door opened, relief and guilt flooding her when she saw who had arrived. In her turmoil over Robb she hadn’t even thought to ask how Olyvar was, and she was overjoyed to see him safe and well. Grey Wind slipped through the door after him and Roslin was on her feet at once. Olyvar limped towards her and her attention was caught on his leg. “What happened?” she asked him as he pulled her into a tight embrace. “I’ll be fine, just a stray arrow is all,” he assured her, “you have enough worries with the King.”

She didn’t disagree with him, merely tightened her hold on him for a long moment before she finally pulled away from his embrace. Grey Wind came to nudge his great head gently against her stomach then and she stroked her hand through his fur as he whined softly. After several minutes he moved away from her, padding towards Robb’s bedside and sitting on his haunches, resting his head down on the bed next to him after a moment. Roslin smiled slightly at the sight before she appraised Olyvar again. “You are certain you’re alright?” she asked him and he nodded, a smile coming to his own face. “Of course I am,” he said, “I was more worried about you.” His hand came to rest on her shoulder and she managed to return his smile. “I’ll be alright,” she assured him, “just as soon as I know he will be.”


	30. XXX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos, much appreciated as always.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter!
> 
> :)

* * *

Jeyne wasn’t sure she had heard right when Lord Tully first came to find her but he had repeated his message and now she was following him down the hallways of the east wing on the ground floor. There were guards absolutely everywhere and it put her on edge as they continued on. Her tension only lifted slightly when she saw Damon stood tall outside a coming door, several other members of the Queensguard and Robb’s own men with him. She caught his eye and his expression was unreadable. Before she could dwell on it Lord Tully had pushed open the door of the chamber and bid her come in. The queen looked up at once and Jeyne wanted to cringe at the look that crossed her features.

It was quickly masked, her attention going almost at once back to her unconscious husband. Jeyne took a breath and swallowed hard, hoping that the Maester would not have need of her for long. “How are the other men Jeyne?” the Maester asked her, and she was glad to be able to turn her attention to him. “I have done what I can with the skill I have,” she reported to him, “but there are some who will need your attention. One man I believe will have to lose his arm…another is refusing to allow me to treat a wound to his thigh. I fear that he may bleed to death if you do not attend on him soon.”

“I require your assistance with the King’s leg, then you can show me to them,” the Maester said and she nodded her agreement, moving hesitantly further towards Robb and determinedly avoiding looking at the queen. “I will have to splint it,” the Maester spoke again as she came to his side and she nodded her agreement. “I have arranged the leg so it will heal in the correct place,” he continued, “I need you to hold the splint in place while I make sure it is bandaged tightly.” Jeyne agreed readily and he moved the splint into place, showing her exactly where to hold it. She took a breath before moving forward and holding it carefully to Robb’s calf. The Maester moved to begin bandaging it then and Jeyne looked up for a moment, seeing the queen’s eyes boring into her.

She knew a blush had risen on her cheeks as she averted her eyes and concentrated on holding the splint perfectly in position. The Maester bandaged further and further up and she shifted her own hands at his instruction, making sure the splint did not move a fraction from where it ought to be. She was relieved when the Maester moved so far up that she had no more need to continue holding the splint, grateful to be allowed to move her hands from Robb’s bare skin. She could still feel the queen looking at her but no longer did she feel quite so self-conscious. “Perfect,” the Maester murmured as he tied the bandage tightly. “So long as he does not move it too soon I see no reason why it should not heal nicely,” he addressed the queen.

“Thank you, truly,” the queen said, nodding to the Maester before her gaze moved to focus on Jeyne. “Both of you,” she added quietly, her eyes lingering for a moment before she moved them back to Robb. “That is all I can do for now my queen,” the Maester continued, “if there is any change in him send for me at once. I will have some milk of the poppy sent in case he stirs and has need of pain relief.”

“Do you think he will wake?” the queen asked, her eyes wide and hopeful. “Perhaps,” the Maester nodded, “but I would not be surprised nor worried if it takes a few days.” Again the queen nodded, clearly placated with the Maester’s words as she moved one of her dainty little hands to stroke through Robb’s curls, murmuring something to him that Jeyne couldn’t quite make out. “Come Jeyne,” the Maester said, “let us see what we can do for these other unfortunate souls.” Jeyne followed him obediently from the room, noticing as they left that Damon appeared to be doing his utmost to avoid her gaze. That alone made her feel even more upset than the sight of seeing Robb laid out unconscious had done. As she walked down the hallways in the Maester’s wake she determined not to dwell on it, right now her duties needed to come first. Damon and his moods could wait.

* * *

Roslin started as a soft knock came at the door. She rubbed at her eyes before moving her hand to Robb’s chest, a breath of relief leaving her when she felt it still rising and falling under her touch. The room was near pitch black now and she rubbed her hand against her neck, feeling it stiff where she had slept in such an awkward position. Remembering the knock on the door she sat herself up straighter and called for them to come in. She faltered slightly when the door opened to reveal Jeyne. “The Maester sent me with milk of the poppy for his Grace,” she said before Roslin could comment. Roslin nodded slightly and Jeyne hesitantly moved further into the room, Roslin’s eyes watching her carefully as she moved to place the bottle down on the bedside table.

“Do you need anything else my queen?” Jeyne asked her and she considered her for a moment. “Would you light the lamp?” she asked after a moment and Jeyne agreed at once, moving to the side table to do as she was bid. A soft glow filled the room after a minute and Roslin arched her back, trying to stretch herself awake, standing up from her chair at Robb’s bedside and moving to the window. There was movement in the courtyard but nothing to trouble her, her eyes lingering on the flames atop the ramparts for a long moment. “I will leave you in peace my queen,” Jeyne speaking again turned her attention back to the room. “Stay,” she said before she could stop herself, turning to face her. “As you wish,” Jeyne said, hovering awkwardly by the side table. “Sit,” Roslin said softly and Jeyne hesitated a moment before moving to take the chair on the other side of Robb’s bed.

Roslin watched her for a moment, seeing how her eyes seemed to want to look simultaneously at Robb and anywhere but Robb. “You can look at him,” Roslin told her, crossing to retake her own seat; “there is no harm in looking at him.” Jeyne did indeed glance towards him then but soon stopped, her eyes instead fixing on Roslin. “He has more colour in his cheeks,” Jeyne said after an intensely awkward moment of silence. “He does,” Roslin agreed, the tension crackling around them. “If he knew I was here -,” Jeyne started.

“He would have a fit, us both sat here together,” Roslin finished for her and Jeyne nodded slightly, a ghost of a smile on her face. “I wanted to hate you,” Jeyne said quietly and Roslin raised her brows slightly. “I know that feeling,” she said, their eyes meeting for a brief moment. “I don’t blame you,” Roslin continued when Jeyne showed no sign of speaking again; “I got everything you wanted and I never even asked for it.”

“Exactly,” Jeyne agreed, “though…it was never mine to take either.” Her eyes moved to Robb’s still face again and Roslin watched her carefully. “I don’t blame you,” Roslin said again, “for falling for him, I mean. I promised myself I wouldn’t. I told myself that it was a duty to marry him, nothing else. I didn’t want to fall for him, not when I knew his heart was yours.”

“It wasn’t,” Jeyne said quickly, “not really.” Roslin smiled slightly at that, not hearing any trace of bitterness in the other woman’s tone. “Perhaps not,” she agreed softly, her eyes darting to Robb as he seemed to stir slightly in his sleep. “Perhaps he knows I’m here after all,” Jeyne said wryly and Roslin couldn’t help but snort in amusement. “It would be just like him to wake up now and get himself into a panic over a simple conversation,” Roslin smiled slightly.

“He loves you so much,” Jeyne whispered and Roslin met her eyes, not seeing any jealously or bitterness residing in them. Only acceptance. “Was it my imagination or…Ser Damon?” Roslin raised a brow in expectation and Jeyne smiled wryly. “Not your imagination,” she confirmed, though she did not seem entirely happy about it. “He’s a good match,” Roslin said pointedly and Jeyne nodded at once. “I know he is, and I’m lucky that he would consider me,” Jeyne met her eyes, “but since the King has been injured he is barely able to look at me. You know…once the Rock was taken we were set to be married. Now I wonder if it will even happen…”

“Do you want it to happen?” Roslin asked her softly and she nodded her head. “Well perhaps you ought to tell him that,” she continued and Jeyne sighed heavily. “What kind of life will we have together if I have to reassure him at every turn that there is nothing left between Robb and I?” she asked her expectantly and Roslin shrugged her shoulders slightly. “I don’t suppose I can answer that, what is between you and Ser Damon is none of my business,” Roslin said.

“I didn’t expect to have feelings for another man, not ones so strong in any case,” Jeyne murmured, her eyes averting again from Roslin’s and focusing on her entwined hands. “I didn’t expect a lot of things,” Roslin sighed, “I didn’t expect to love my husband. I didn’t expect to ever be able to speak civilly to his former mistress.” Jeyne blushed at that but Roslin continued as though she hadn’t noticed; “I didn’t ever expect to be sat at his bedside making sure his heart continued to beat, but here I am,” she smiled slightly, caressing Robb’s hand with her own. “If you want Ser Damon Jeyne, then walk out of that door and get him,” she said, meeting the other woman’s gaze; “life is too short during these times to waver in matters of the heart.”

“So simple,” Jeyne said as Robb stirred again, causing Roslin to lean in closer. “If you want it to be,” she met Jeyne’s eyes for a moment before her attention was exclusively focused on Robb. He was definitely waking now and she was off her chair in an instant, Grey Wind rising with a tired yap next to her. She was vaguely aware of Jeyne making hurried excuses to leave but she barely paid any attention, her hands coming to cup around Robb’s cheeks as his eyes blinked slowly awake, a groan escaping his lips. “Roslin?” he croaked out, shifting slightly and wincing. “Hush now,” she soothed him, moving to perch on the edge of the bed, her hand stroking down his cheek soothingly. “Don’t you try and move, stay perfectly still,” she urged him as he blinked slowly at her, the confusion slowly melting from his blue orbs.

“Bolton,” he rasped and she hushed him again. “Dealt with,” she assured him, “he is in chains awaiting his fate, along with what is left of his men.” He closed his eyes and grimaced and she leant carefully over him at once to snatch up the bottle of milk of the poppy. “You are not to move,” she cautioned him, “the Maester has your leg in a splint and if you want the break to heal you are to stay abed and be careful with yourself.”

“Break?” Robb repeated, his voice almost exasperated as she nodded to him. “I know it is going to be testing for you my love, but you must promise me you will do as the Maester said,” she urged him, her eyes on his. “You have damage to your ribs as well, and Bolton wounded you,” she continued and Robb winced slightly. “My stomach,” he groaned, “I remember.” She nodded her head, taking his hand in hers and squeezing slightly. “I had the strangest dream,” he said after another moment, his brow furrowing as though he were trying to remember it. “Did you now?” she smiled slightly, his hand clenching more tightly around hers. “I can’t remember it now…” his frown deepened and her smile widened before she leant in closer to him and pressed a kiss to his brow.

“It is no matter,” she murmured against his skin when she pulled back. “I thought I’d never see you again,” he breathed out then and she pulled back further to meet her eyes. “So did I,” she confessed, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry for putting you through this,” he said meaningfully and she hushed him again, stroking her hand through his hair. “It was not as though you intended it,” she soothed him and he grasped her hand tighter, lifting it to his mouth to press a firm kiss to the back of it. “I made you a promise,” he said fiercely and she nodded her head. “I know you did,” she said, “and you’ve kept it.”

“I love you,” he whispered and tears welled up in her eyes. “I love you too,” she returned, moving herself as close to him as she dared, his arm coming to hold her against his uninjured side as she lay her head down on his shoulder. “How is our baby?” he asked her quietly, a trace of fear evident in his tone. “Strong like its father,” she assured him and his lips came to press against the top of her head. “Thank the Gods,” he murmured and she nodded her agreement. They lapsed into a silence then that was only broken by a whine from Grey Wind. Roslin lifted her head at once, shifting herself back up so Robb’s wolf could greet him. “He has barely left your side,” she told him with a smile. “He never has,” Robb replied, his hand reaching out to lay on top of his faithful beast’s head. Grey Wind nuzzled against his palm for a moment, more whines leaving him.

Roslin watched them with a smile, the smile on Robb’s own face giving way to a grimace after a few minutes. “You’re in pain,” she said, reaching out again for the milk of the poppy. “I’m fine,” he tried to protest but she would have none of it, rising from the bed and crossing to pick up a cup from the side table. “You will drink this with no complaint. I want my husband to get better, and he will not do that unless he is well rested,” she told him firmly, “and you cannot be well rested if you are in constant pain. Where is it the worst?”

“My stomach,” he admitted after a moment, “and my leg is throbbing slightly.” She poured him a healthy dose, filling another cup with water as she knew herself how foul the pain relief tasted. “If I drink this you must promise to go to your own rooms and get a good night’s rest,” he said pointedly as she returned to him. “Very well,” she agreed to his compromise, “but I will be back first thing in the morning.” He didn’t seek to argue with her as she set the cups down on the bedside table. She sat next to him again, carefully lifting his head up so she could slide another pillow beneath him so he was propped up enough to be able to drink the milk of the poppy down. He swallowed it down without complaint but she could tell from his expression that it tasted just as terrible as she remembered.

When she moved the cup of water to his lips he lapped it down greedily, swallowing every last drop. “Thank you,” he smiled when she moved the empty cup away from him. “Get some more rest now, and don’t even think of moving without aid,” she warned him and he nodded his agreement. “Promise me you’ll sleep,” he said, meeting her eyes, “don’t come sneaking back here once I have fallen asleep again.”

“I promise,” she said, holding his gaze, and he finally seemed satisfied. She moved closer then and pressed a kiss to his lips, his hand coming to the back of her neck to keep her in place as their lips moved softly together. “I love you,” he breathed when he allowed her to pull back again. “As I love you,” she smiled in response. “Get out of here, go on,” he urged her and she pecked his lips once more before rising up from the bed and making for the door. She turned back when she reached it, seeing Grey Wind hop up onto the bed and lay himself out against Robb’s uninjured side. “I will be well tended in your absence,” he assured her with a smile and she nodded. “Goodnight my love,” she said softly before she pulled open the door. “Goodnight,” he responded to her just before she closed the door behind her.

* * *

When Jeyne pulled open the door she was so relieved to see him that she couldn’t help the little burst of laughter that escaped her lips. He looked almost bewildered but she had no time for his uncertainty now as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him back into the room. His confusion seemed to melt away then as he kicked the door shut behind him and bent his head to kiss her at once. She kissed him back slowly and deeply, hoping that the feelings she had for him that she could not yet voice would be understood by him with her kiss. He pulled back first and she made a disgruntled noise, only faintly placated when he pressed a kiss to her forehead before leaning his own down against hers.

“I confess I was worried about him,” she said softly, “but so were you, don’t deny it. I saw your face when you were with the queen and Lord Tully was delivering the news. It doesn’t mean that I don’t want you, or that I am still in love with him. You know that, don’t you?” Damon sighed heavily before he nodded against her and she breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I was jealous, I confess it. It was stupid, I know it was…but I couldn’t help it, knowing you were in that room sat at his bedside. I was imagining all sorts in my mind even though I knew that none of it were true. You just mean so much to me Jeyne, I just can’t bear the thought of you slipping through my fingers.”

“I won’t,” she told him, her tone almost frustrated as she pressed her body closer to him. “I’m yours Damon, I swear to you…I just wish you would let me prove it. That you would believe it.” His lips found hers again at her words and she kissed him back hungrily, wanting more than ever for them to let the desire take hold of them so she could be as one with him. “Come to the Sept with me,” he breathed when he pulled away and her eyes widened. “What -?” she began, her stomach twisting in knots at the intense look in his eyes. “Come to the Sept with me and swear it now,” he urged her, “we will swear it to one another, before the Gods. Be my wife Jeyne.”

“Now?” she whispered, her eyes wide. “Now,” he nodded in confirmation. His eyes didn’t leave hers and before she knew it she was nodding her head and he was laughing out in relief. She barely had time to blink before he had released her, moving away to pull down her cloak from the back of the door. “Not quite tradition but who cares,” he grinned at her and she couldn’t help but laugh, her head still spinning slightly. He grabbed her hand then and led her to the door, wrenching it open and pulling her through it. “Won’t the Septon be annoyed at being awoken at such an hour?” she questioned him breathlessly as he hurried them down the hallways. “I will pay him well, he will not grumble for long,” he answered her as they rounded into the main entrance hall.

The guards on duty cast curious looks their way as they continued on towards the Sept, but none of them said anything and they gave no explanation. When they finally arrived in the Sept Jeyne’s steps faltered as she looked around the vast space. Whenever she had imagined getting married it had been at the Crag and their modest Sept had been fit to burst. She had never imagined being married in the dead of night by a bribed Septon in front of no witnesses. For a second she wondered if she had made a mistake agreeing to such a thing. Her doubt melted in the next moment though as Damon knocked sharply on the door to the Septon’s adjoining quarters, seeing the smile he flashed at her at the action. “You sure?” he asked with a wink and she was nodding automatically. “Sure,” she promised him, and it was the truth.

The Septon wrenched open his door in the next moment and Jeyne pressed her lips tightly together to stop herself from laughing at the look on his face. “Sorry to rouse you so late,” Damon was charming him at once, upturning his coin purse and pressing half the contents into the Septon’s hand. “But I cannot wait another moment to make this woman my wife,” he finished and the Septon sighed exasperatedly, slipping the coin into his robes before inclining his head to the altar. Jeyne took Damon’s outstretched hand and they walked in step behind the Septon, stopping before the carved figures of the Seven. The Septon cleared his throat and looked between them. “Will you cloak this woman and bring her under your protection?” he asked and Damon agreed at once, sweeping Jeyne’s own plain cloak around her shoulders.

With that they lifted their clasped hands and allowed the Septon to entwine the ribbon around them, their eyes not moving from one another’s. They said the words at the Septon’s instruction, their voices melting perfectly together as they spoke them in total unison. With them said they beamed at one another, leaning in to press their lips firmly together for a long moment. When they pulled away again the Septon moved back to them to unwind the ribbon, inclining his head to them both. “Thank you,” Damon said meaningfully and Jeyne repeated his sentiments. “You’re most welcome,” the Septon managed a smile though he still looked slightly disgruntled. Jeyne could hardly care though as Damon pulled her towards the door of the Sept at once.

She looked up at him, seeing him already beaming down on her. “No regrets?” he asked her, squeezing her hand tightly with his own. “Not one,” she promised him, “and you?” she raised her brows and waited for his answer. “No,” he grinned, “although, I feel I ought to warn you that you may soon be widowed when my mother finds out about this.”


	31. XXXI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who left kudos. It is much appreciated! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter.
> 
> :)

* * *

They practically fell through the door of Jeyne’s temporary chambers, their hands snatching wildly at one another as they kissed blindly. Somehow she managed to scrabble her hand behind her, finding nothing but empty air for a long moment before she touched wood. Her slamming of the door seemed to snap Damon out of his lustful frenzy, his hands stilling against her waist and his lips pulling from hers. She frowned, and one of his hands came up to her face so he could whisper his fingers along her creased brow. “You do that too much,” he told her softly and her lips tugged up on one side. “Well if my husband would deny me,” she said pointedly and a huge smile spread across his face. “I rather like the sound of that,” he said and she raised a brow. “What? Denying me?” she asked.

“No,” he chuckled lightly, “you calling me husband.” Before she could respond his lips were back on hers, kissing her slowly this time. Deeply. Meaningfully. His hands pulled her body flush against his as their tongues danced, the heat that had always been between them rising up slowly now, setting her body aflame one inch at a time. Between her thighs she ached and she couldn’t help but rock her hips more firmly against his own. A groan escaped him, swallowed up by their kiss. It was enough for her to know that he was aching too though, and it made her feel triumphant. Again he pulled his lips away, pressing soft little kisses down her cheek and down her neck. His hands found the lacings of her dress and he unthread them slowly, her bodice loosening at an almost torturous pace.

“You’re killing me,” she almost moaned as he slipped her dress from her shoulders and began lavishing one of them with kisses. “I have imagined this a thousand times,” he murmured against her skin, his warm breath making her shudder with want. “I want to savour every moment of the first time I am with my wife,” he continued and her knees almost gave out. Her own hands came to his doublet, skilfully unthreading laces and undoing buttons until it fell open. His lips remained on her shoulder but his hands came away from her to shrug his doublet away. When it dropped to the floor he did pull away from her entirely, their eyes meeting as his own hands went to the hem of his tunic. She swallowed hard, her heart pounding wildly in anticipation as he pulled it up and over his head.

Forcing herself to match the slow pace he had decided to set she stepped forwards and placed her hands to his chest. He breathed deeply as she allowed her fingers to trace every inch of his bare skin, feeling the twitch of every muscle and every little scar he had ever picked up. Her eyes roved over the progress of her hands, taking in everything her touch was finding. None of the scars looked new or raw, the relief she felt at that was almost indescribable. She reminded herself that the worst was over, that Damon likely wouldn’t have to fight again. Besides, he was now side-lined in battle, tasked with being at the queen’s side more often than he was away from it. Jeyne refused to think about how little she would see him, instead focusing on the fact that she had him here right now, and tonight he could be hers entirely.

Their eyes met as she thought that, and she wondered if he could read her thoughts, or perhaps he just had the same ones as she did. Either way his hands came to her again, tugging gently on the ribbons that held her shift about her. He kept his eyes on hers as he loosened it to the extent that it slipped easily from her shoulders and pooled at her feet. She held her breath as his eyes moved from her face to peruse her bare body. Gods. She hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed. When his eyes came back to meet hers they were stormier that ever. His hands entangled in her hair, his lips coming to kiss her tenderly for a long moment before he pulled back again, his warm breath teasing at her lips when he did so. His hands slipped down then, his thumbs lingering to caress at her breasts before he kept wandering them down her sides until they came to rest on her hips.

Without warning he lifted her up and she gasped in surprise, wrapping her own arms around his neck and lifting her legs so they came about his waist. He grinned at her and she laughed breathlessly as he walked them slowly to the bed, his eyes not moving from hers as he did so. When they reached it he knelt on the edge and slowly lowered her down atop the blankets and furs. While she stretched herself out he removed his boots and his breeches before crawling atop her body. His lips kissed the flat expanse of her stomach, his hands clenching slightly around her upper thighs as he trailed kisses up her body. He stopped at her breasts, taking one of her hardened buds in his mouth and kissing and nipping at her until her back arched up and a wanton moan left her mouth. One of his hands came to cup between her legs at the sound and she knew he would find her more than ready for him.

His own groan of pleasure was stifled by the swell of her breast as he glided his fingers slowly against her warmth, making sure to rub her sensitive bud between them. The attention was enough to have her thighs twitching and her hips rocking upwards again. She could feel even more heat seeking between her thighs as he continued his ministrations, his lips finally moving from her breast. They trailed up across her collarbone and her neck, lingering at the spot just behind her ear. Jeyne gasped out as his fingers continued to tease her, her hands pressing more firmly against his back to encourage his body closer. He obliged after a moment, pressing the length of his body down against her own. She could feel him hard up against her and her hips rocked upwards again, her legs moving up to wrap high around his waist.

His own hips shifted in the next moment and she knew that he was finally going to join them as one and relieve the ache that appeared to have engulfed the entirety of her body. She wasn’t disappointed, feeling the length of him pushing ever so slowly into her, a long breath of satisfaction coming from her lips as he filled her completely. He lifted his eyes to hers and she met his stormy gaze as he moved slowly above her. She could scarce look away from him as he continued rocking at such a slow pace, all of him burying inside her with every thrust. Slowly she raised her own hips to meet his, her legs shifting a fraction higher on his waist. It was torturous but it felt so good, and still she could not tear her eyes from Damon as he built up the pleasure inside her every time their bodies moved closer to one another.

Their breathing grew more laboured, their pace increasing slightly as they continued on, Jeyne now feeling that tightening in her stomach that told her she was close. Damon’s chest slicked so easily against hers as she climbed closer, her head beginning to spin and her thighs beginning to twitch. Her breathing was ragged as she forced air into her lungs, a cry leaving her mouth in the next moment as Damon slipped his hand between them to find her bud again. His thumb pressed down as he continued rocking into her and he growled out as he circled it, the rock of Jeyne’s hips becoming more erratic now as she felt her end coming. She was mumbling out incoherently, his name coming from her lips as he pushed her right to the brink.

Her stomach was coiled so tightly now that it was almost unbearable, her thighs twitching around him as her hips bucked up and her body writhed and twisted of its own accord. Still Damon rocked into her, his thumb adding a little more pressure to her bud. It was just enough, just enough for all the knots in her stomach to snap in unison. Every muscle in her body that had seemed utterly tense in the second before relaxed all at once and it was all she could do to remember to pull air in through her lips as her head spun with sheer bliss. Somewhere she was aware of Damon finishing inside her, of his body pressing even closer to her own and of their heavy breathing mingling together. When she felt able to move she trailed one hand up his back to run through his hair, her head turning so she could press a kiss to his forehead.

“How was that for a wedding night?” he asked her in an amused tone and she couldn’t help the wide smile that spread across her face. “Not the one I ever imagined,” she told him, her voice still breathy as her entire body was still tingling pleasantly. He chuckled slightly at that, his hand rubbing gently up and down her side as they lapsed into silence for a long moment. “I hope I didn’t disappoint,” she said quietly after a time, swallowing hard and wondering if part of him regretted the fact that she was not a maid. “You couldn’t,” he said, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “In fact,” he continued, “I am rather glad you were not a maid.” She frowned at that and she imagined he must have sensed it because he lifted his head up to meet her eyes. “Why?” she asked him and he smiled wickedly at her. “Because,” he said, his hand trailing down to clench around her thigh; “it means I have no reason to feel guilty for having you again,” he leaned in to press a kiss to her lips. “And again,” he said when he pulled back, “and again…”

* * *

Robb watched Roslin as she readied herself for council with his lords, his eyes not leaving her as she appraised herself in the mirror. She seemed unable to decide how to have her hair but he knew better than to offer any suggestion. She was nervous, having never been to council without him before. He had tried to soothe her, to assure her that all his lords respected her immensely. She would have Olyvar with her too, and Ser Damon if he ever decided to make an appearance. Robb turned to the side to see Grey Wind sat up and staring at him. His wolf had only left him once, and only when he had commanded him to go outside for a while. He had gone reluctantly with his tail between his legs and returned after a mere ten minutes.

Robb knew from what the Greatjon and some of his other men had reported that it had been Grey Wind who had prevented Bolton from dealing him a fatal blow. The end had all happened so swiftly but Robb had been unaware of it all. He had only become aware again hours later when he had stirred to find his beautiful wife gazing down on him. His eyes went back to her then and her own caught his gaze in the mirror. “I don’t know what to do with myself,” she told him, her tone almost agonized. “Come here,” he said softly and she visibly hesitated for a moment before she obeyed him. He patted the bed next to him as she approached and she settled herself down at his side at once. “You are my queen,” he told her, lacing his fingers through hers and meeting her eyes.

“My lords will obey you as they do me, I promise you that,” he assured her and she nodded her head, not looking entirely placated. “What if I make the wrong decision?” she asked him fearfully and he chuckled lightly. “That would be entirely impossible,” he smiled at her and her own lips quirked up slightly. “I don’t want to disappoint you,” she said quietly and he tugged on her hand. She came closer at the gesture, laying her head down against his shoulder as he stroked his hand soothingly through her hair. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he murmured, turning his head to press a kiss to her forehead. “You could never do that,” he told her firmly.

She lifted her head up from his shoulder at that, her eyes meeting his. “There will be decisions to make about Bolton, and the Dreadfort, and Winterfell, and -,” he cut off her tirade by cupping his hand around her cheek and pulling her in for a kiss. “What to do will all come to you,” he promised her when he pulled away. “Listen to the lords, take advice from them but never agree to something you are uncomfortable with,” he advised her and she nodded. “Remember, you’re their queen, you command them, not the other way round,” he continued, “if you are uncertain you can delay a decision and come and speak with me about it.”

Roslin looked far more reassured after his words and he smiled to see it, encouraging her closer again so he could kiss her once more. “I only ask one thing,” he said seriously when they broke apart again. “What is that?” she asked him expectantly. “I will take Bolton’s head myself, when I’m able,” he said and she nodded her head in agreement. “And the entire North will rejoice that day,” she said, a steely edge to her voice that he had never heard before. “There you see,” he breathed, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear; “you already sound like the perfect queen.”

“You are biased in the matter,” she returned, slight amusement peppering her tones now. He merely smiled widely at her before pulling her back towards him. Before their lips could meet there was a sharp rap at the door. “Doubtless Ser Damon,” Roslin said as she pulled back from him and sat herself up straight. “Impeccable timing,” Robb said wryly and she smacked his arm lightly in response before she called for the new arrival to come in. It was indeed Ser Damon and he bowed lowly to both of them, his expression rather sheepish when he caught Robb’s eye, no doubt sensing his irritation. “I must apologise your Graces,” Ser Damon said, “I clear forgot the time. My only excuse is that I was rather caught up with my wife.”

“Your wife?!” Robb repeated incredulously, his brows raising. “Yes your Grace,” Ser Damon said, bowing shortly again. Robb moved his eyes to Roslin then and saw that she did not look surprised at all, a knowing little smile playing about her lips. “Tell me,” she said, “how are you and Lady Jeyne enjoying wedded life?”

“Very well so far my queen,” he beamed at her and Robb saw Roslin’s own smile widen. His own head was spinning. He had known that there was something between Jeyne and Ser Damon but he hadn’t imagined that it ran so deep that they would marry in such haste. “Forgive me,” Robb finally found his voice, “I have yet to congratulate you.” He felt Roslin’s eyes on him as he said the words but he couldn’t find it in him yet to look at her. “That is no matter your Grace,” Ser Damon inclined his head politely. Robb appraised him. Once upon a time he imagined that he would have felt intense jealousy and resentment towards the man who got to take Jeyne as his wife. Now he was just…surprised. A smile twitched at his lips. “If you had given warning we could have got you a gift,” he said, his eyes finally sliding to Roslin.

She looked relieved, her hand twitching in his, and he knew that she too must have been anticipating a bad reaction from him. He wanted to cave in and tell her all number of things, to reassure her beyond any doubt that she was the only woman he wanted, the woman he loved more that he had ever imagined possible. With Ser Damon here though he could merely meet her eyes and hope that she understood his unspoken thoughts. A little smile came to play about her lips and he imagined that she had indeed understood at least some of his unvoiced feelings. Her eyes left his, moving instead to appraise Ser Damon, her smile only widening. “Well it is not too late,” she said, “such a happy union should not go uncelebrated. You must pass on our congratulations to your new wife.”

“I will my queen,” Ser Damon bowed again, “it will mean a great deal to her.” Roslin merely inclined her head and smiled serenely at that. “Well, I suppose I ought not to keep the lords any longer,” she said, rising up from the bed, her hand slipping from Robb’s. “Remember what I said,” he reminded her softly and she nodded her head, a steely determination in her eyes when she met his. “I will bore you with all the details later,” she promised him, leaning in to press a firm kiss to his lips. “I love you,” he murmured quietly when she pulled back and she smiled brightly. “I love you,” she returned, straightening up and turning away, her hand resting on Grey Wind’s head for a moment before she crossed to the side table.

Her crown lay atop it and Robb watched her hesitate over it for a moment, her hands shaking slightly. It took a little time but eventually they became steady and she lifted it up and placed it atop her head, her back straightening and her head held high as she turned back to look at him once more. “There is milk of the poppy at your side should you need it, and the Maester will be along soon enough,” she said and he nodded his head. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be right where you left me when you return,” he smiled at her and she returned it. “Shall we, Ser?” she addressed Ser Damon and he inclined his head, voicing his agreement. Roslin pulled open the door then and marched right through it, her determined manner making Robb smile even more widely as Ser Damon bowed to him before following on in her wake, closing the door firmly behind him on the way out.

* * *

Catelyn clattered into the courtyard of Riverrun at the side of the Smalljon, hundreds of hooves thundering around them. She could barely hear them above the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears as she looked up at her childhood home. Recently there were such mixed memories of this place. Here she had sent her father on his journey to the Gods, had mourned her sons who she had thought lost to her. Two men she loved had married here, her brother and her eldest boy. She had been pleased to see Edmure settled and happy, her emotions on Robb’s wedding day had been conflicted to say the least. Knowing that he was no longer miserable and resentful over marrying Roslin ensured that her guilt over making the match in the first place had melted away.

Now she was here again and she was certain that this visit would chase away every single bad memory she had of this place. The Smalljon helped her down from her horse and she thanked him distractedly, her eyes fixed on the main doors. To her surprise they didn’t open and she frowned. Arya knew she was coming, she had written an update on their progress every day on the journey and sent it ahead to Riverrun. Hurriedly she went for the steps, pausing halfway up as she heard the clash of swords echoing down the alleyway that led round to the tiltyard. Wherever there was sparring her younger daughter would never be far away, even if she were meant to be. Catelyn had lost count of the number of times that Septa Mordane had come before her to complain that Arya had skipped lessons again. She would always be found in the tiltyard.

She turned and descended the steps again, her pace brisk as she walked through the alleyway. When she emerged into the tiltyard her heart almost stopped in her chest at the sight that greeted her. Her little girl was sparring furiously with her uncle Brynden, real steel in her grasp as she clashed swords with him over and over again. “Arya Stark!” she called out before she could stop herself, feeling as though she were back at Winterfell again, catching her out of her needlework session for the thousandth time. The clashing ceased, Arya’s skinny little sword slipping out of her grasp and clanging down onto the stone of the yard. For what felt like forever they stared at one another, neither moving nor knowing what to say.

“Mother!” Arya finally broke the silence, and hearing that one word had Catelyn picking up her skirts and flying towards her at once. Her daughter flung herself into her arms and Catelyn pressed her to her chest, gripping her as tightly as she could as though afraid to let her go again. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t let her go anywhere again until she was certain this war was over and done with. Her lips pressed to the top of her head, noting the new shortness of her hair. “Is this a new style in the Capitol?” she asked her, her voice choked with emotion as she toyed with a lock of her hair. “Not exactly,” Arya replied thickly, “I had to be Arry for a little while.”

“Oh Gods, Arya…” Catelyn could find no more words, clutching her back close again. “I don’t even know where to begin,” she said after another long moment, pushing her back slightly and appraising her; “have you been hurt?” Arya shook her head at that and Catelyn let out a relieved breath, her eye caught by the scarred man who was lurking around the edge of the tiltyard. “The Hound?” she asked Arya quietly and her daughter scowled. “The Brotherhood said they’d bring me here,” Arya told her, “but then they decided to go further south and hunt some Lannisters. I got fed up, I’d been trying to get back for so long and they wanted to go south again…I couldn’t do it, so I left them. Only _he_ caught hold of me. I thought he’d take me back to the queen and Joffrey but he brought me here instead.”

“I can’t believe you’re real,” Catelyn smiled shakily, her hands coming to cup around her cheeks. “What’s happened to everyone else, I don’t know anything except that Robb won all his battles in the Westerlands. Tywin Lannister wasn’t happy about that,” Arya said matter-of-factly and Catelyn stared at her. “How do you know that?” she asked with a slight frown and Arya shrugged. “I served him wine at Harranhal, he used to ask me about tactics,” Arya replied and Catelyn blinked stupidly. “You served him…” she trailed off vaguely, unable to quite believe what she was hearing.

“Oh but wait!” Arya piped up suddenly, her eyes wide. “I remember something now…something about Bolton. He’s one of the northern lords isn’t he?” Catelyn nodded her head and Arya gasped. “I thought so…it didn’t make sense before but now…oh Gods…mother, you have to get word to Robb! Tywin said that Robb’s rebellion would be over once Bolton re-joined him. Mother, he’s going to betray him!”

“Oh Gods,” Catelyn whispered, her head spinning. She remembered the attempt on Roslin’s life. Would that be how Bolton would strike? He was one of Robb’s bannermen, it would not be difficult for him to request a private meeting with his king. Oh Gods. But surely…surely not. If Bolton murdered Robb like that in the middle of camp then he himself would be dead a thousand times over. He would get no reward from the other northern lords.  “Arya, are you absolutely certain about this?” Catelyn asked her and Arya nodded her head, her eyes shining with conviction. “Then we’d best hope our warning gets to Robb before Bolton strikes.”


	32. XXXII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks very much for the kudos guys, much appreciated!
> 
> More soon!
> 
> :)

* * *

Roslin took a deep breath before she swept into the council chambers, her eyes lingering for a moment on the newly hung Stark banners that had been hastily strung up in place of the Lannister lions. She caught Lord Tully’s eye as she moved to take her place at the head of the table for the first time, his encouraging smile giving her the courage she needed to take Robb’s usual place. Ser Damon came to stand behind her, slightly to her right so she could always see him in her peripheral vison. The lords, who had all stood on her arrival, all bowed lowly to her before resuming their seats. She waited until they had all settled before opening her mouth; “my lords,” she smiled, “it appears we are one short.”

Her wry comment appeared to amuse the Greatjon, something akin to a cackle leaving his mouth as a few of the others had smiles twitching at their lips. “He’ll soon be a head short,” Lord Flint quipped and Roslin allowed a smile to come to her own face. “The King will make sure of it,” she said firmly, “just as soon as he is well enough.” Murmurs of agreement greeted her statement and she took a little confidence from their easy compliance. “What of the Dreadfort? The traitor’s bastard?” Lord Cerwyn asked her and she took a deep breath. She hadn’t given any thought to the matter but now her attention had been drawn to it she could feel indescribable anger pulsing through her veins.

“I would have it taken apart piece by piece,” she snarled and silence greeted her words. “When it is done no one will ever know that a castle once stood on that ground. I would remove all trace of the Boltons and their accursed seat from the history of the North. We do not need our own Harranhal,” she finished and the silence continued. “Aye,” the Greatjon finally spoke quietly.

“What would you do with the pieces?” Dacey asked her just as quietly and Roslin turned her eyes on her, appraising the woman for a long moment. “I would use them to rebuild Winterfell. Let some use come from them,” she said, “let it show the world that Bolton’s betrayal has only made us stronger, show them that we cannot be so easily broken.” Cries of agreement met her words and when she looked back to Dacey she saw that the woman looked suitably impressed. Roslin imagined that a fierce warrior like her may think a heavily-guarded queen weak and foolish. She determined more than ever to prove that that was not the case.

“I must thank you, Lady Dacey,” she spoke again when the noise had died down, “I hear it was you who pulled my brother from harm’s way when he was injured.” Dacey inclined her head to her, a small smile on her lips as her eyes flickered to where Olyvar was for a moment. “True enough my queen,” Dacey said, “it was my pleasure to do it.”

“What of Bolton’s lands?” Lord Cerwyn asked next and Roslin took a breath, considering his question for a long moment. She bit down gently on her lip as she pondered, hoping that Robb would not think her overstepping the mark with her next words. “I think they ought to be divided up,” she said, “shared between loyal men who have shown outstanding loyalty to their king and country, and who have shown extraordinary bravery in this war.”

“Very good my queen,” the Greatjon said, and Roslin watched his squire take down a few notes at his side. “Unless any of you can think of anything more fitting?” she asked with a raised brow but no one spoke up, much to her relief. She caught Olyvar’s eye and he smiled at her encouragingly. “How soon will we be travelling north?” the Greatjon asked her after a moment of silence and she sighed heavily. She knew well enough that Robb would not want to separate his army again, and he was far too weak for them to even consider moving him just yet. “The King must recover,” she said firmly, “and we still have the Lannister-Tyrell alliance to concern ourselves with.”

“Right enough,” Lord Flint nodded, and others murmured their agreement. “I had thought they would be here by now,” Maege Mormont said and Roslin nodded her agreement, only now thinking how strange it was that they hadn’t arrived to lay their own siege. “Something must be amiss at the Capitol,” she said after a moment, “it is the only explanation. Has there been nothing from any of the scouts Lord Umber?”

“Nothing,” the Greatjon confirmed, “it makes little sense. I agree with you my queen, something must be amiss at the Capitol. Bolton likely kept Tywin informed of all our movements, and that includes the secret entrance. The only other explanation I have is that we moved too swiftly for Bolton to warn them, but even so…we have scouts placed all along the roads to the Capitol and there has been no word whatsoever. I think we ought to -,”

What they ought to do, Roslin never heard because the door was thrown open in an instant, a man bearing the Karstark sigil almost falling through it. “What is the meaning of this?!” the Greatjon was on his feet at once, “You cannot interrupt council with no warning!” Roslin stared at the man as he panted out, trying to regain his breath. Clearly he had run hard to get here and she could only assume that he had something of importance to say. “Forgive me…my lords,” he gasped, “my…queen…”

"You are forgiven,” Roslin spoke up before the Greatjon could berate him anymore. “You have news for us, speak,” she commanded him as he nodded his head in agreement. “I was scouting along the Gold Road,” he began, his voice coming more steadily now, “I came upon an inn but I didn’t enter, merely concealed myself outside to keep a look out. Many a thing can be discovered, overhearing things from drunk men -,”

“Get to the point!” the Greatjon interrupted and Roslin was thankful that he had, impatient herself to hear exactly what the man had overheard. “A rider came in the night, anyone for a league around would have heard him shouting the news,” the scout went on, “I could scarce believe my ears but I can only imagine it true my queen, my lords…he brought news that Joffrey is dead.”

Roslin stared at him, and even the Greatjon seemed stunned into silence as everyone around the council table seemed frozen to their seats. “Dead?” Roslin finally repeated, not yet daring to believe that it was true. “Aye, and the Imp arrested, accused of his murder,” the scout elaborated and her brief moment of elation was quelled at once. “The Lady Sansa?” she demanded, those gathered around her looking uneasy whereas a moment before they had smiles spread across their faces. “Nothing was said of her that I overheard,” the man told her and she was faintly placated but far from happy. “Is that all?” she asked him and he nodded, bowing shortly to her.

“Olyvar,” she beckoned to her brother, “please show this man to some chambers and have him brought a hot meal and some wine. I would also have you make sure he is properly rewarded for this, from my own coin purse.” Olyvar bowed his agreement as the scout stuttered out his thanks to her. She allowed him a brief smile, her mind racing with thoughts of what had gone on at the Capitol. She couldn’t understand why Joffrey’s own uncle would want to kill him, and she couldn’t understand why he would be falsely accused if he was so key to the Lannisters’ plans for the future of the North. Not that any of their plans would ever come into fruition, not that they would ever want to admit that.

“What now my queen?” Lord Tully spoke up into the silence as the door closed behind Olyvar and the scout. “Now we know why Tywin has yet to march,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “We need to get word of Lady Sansa,” she continued after a moment, her eyes lingering on the Greatjon. “I will have my men work tirelessly on discovering what has happened at the Capitol,” he promised her and she inclined her head gratefully. “I know there is much more to be discussed my lords, ladies,” she inclined her head to them, “but given this news I feel I must end council for the day and return to the King, I would have him hear this from no one but me.”

“Of course my queen,” the Greatjon agreed, others nodding and voicing their own approval of her words. “Thank you all,” she rose to her feet and they all did the same, bowing shortly to her. “We shall reconvene tomorrow,” she inclined her own head in response before she swept towards the door. Ser Damon’s footsteps fell behind her as ever, Lord Flint’s squire hurrying to the door to open it wide for her so she could march right out. She did just that, not allowing her pace to slow nor her mind to think too much as she made her way back to the chambers where Robb lay, wondering how exactly he would take the news.

* * *

Robb was brooding, his eyes narrowed as he looked towards his heavily bandaged leg. The Maester had told him that once his stomach was better healed that he would be able to move into a chair, and perhaps walk with two sticks. Robb had somehow resisted snapping at him, biting his tongue so hard that he could taste blood in his mouth. He didn’t want to move into a chair and walk with two sticks, it was humiliating enough as it was without all his army being able to see it. He hated this. Being so damn useless. He hated the fact that he had had to send his pregnant wife to council in his place because his pride wouldn’t allow him to have all his lords see him so incapacitated. One by one they had come to him, expressed their concern and spoken with him a while. That had been almost too much. All of them together…the thought was enough to make him shudder.

Every day more humiliation was placed on him. He couldn’t even go to the bathroom without aid. His chest and stomach were so heavily bandaged that he couldn’t sit himself up. The fact that Roslin was more like a nurse than a wife to him now was slowly allowing bitterness to seek into him. She had spoon-fed him dinner the night before, and he had wanted to break down and cry. Never in his life had he felt so useless. He was a man grown and yet he was as incapable as a babe at the breast. His fists clenched hard in the bedsheets, blinking his eyes furiously as angry tears welled in them. Grey Wind whined at his side but he ignored his wolf, looking at him now would likely just make him want to cry even more.

His fists unclenched as he heard movement outside the door. He lifted a hand to furiously brush at his eyes, not wanting whoever had come to know how broken he was feeling. When the handle of the door turned he swallowed hard and prepared to smile, knowing it was likely Roslin, everyone else knocked but she never did. He wasn’t wrong, she slid round the door and closed it behind her, a smile sent his way as she came further into the room, her hands coming up to remove her crown. Robb was glad that she had entered alone and not with Ser Damon trailing her. His wife’s presence alone was almost too much right now. “How was council?” he forced his voice to come out brightly as she turned from placing her crown on the side table and approached the bed.

“It was going well enough, I shall tell you all about it later,” she said as she perched on the edge of the bed and leant in to press a kiss to his lips. That was something that could at least still bring him joy. He met her eyes when she pulled back and a frown creased his brow. “Was _going_ well?” he noted her use of the past tense and she sighed heavily. “We were interrupted by one of Lord Karstark’s scouts,” she told him, “he had news from the Capitol which we believe explains why Tywin has yet to march on us.”

“Go on,” he encouraged and she shifted slightly where she was sat before meeting his eyes again. “Joffrey is dead,” she said clearly and he blinked stupidly. “What?” he whispered, his eyes still locked on hers. Surely this was some jape? How could he be dead? The boy was younger than him and from what Robb had seen of him he was hardly the type to put himself in harm’s way. “Murdered,” Roslin elaborated, “or so we assume, the Imp has been arrested.”

“If the Imp has been arrested, what has happened to my sister?” Robb asked her and he saw her already pale cheeks blanch even more. “I don’t know,” she answered him, “but the Greatjon is going to do everything in his power to find out – I promise you that.” His head spun, barely able to feel the pressure of her hand on his as she did her best to soothe him. “Mad as it sounds I thought marriage to him would save her,” Robb said quietly, “I thought she would be safe so long as they needed her for the North.”

“I know,” Roslin agreed just as quietly. “But they formed a new plan with Bolton,” he spat out the next words and he saw Roslin flinch slightly, regret flooding him. “Bolton is locked in chains in the bowels of the Rock,” she told him determinedly before he could apologise to her. “I know,” he nodded distractedly and her thumb brushed insistently against the back of his hand. “We have all the power here,” Roslin soothed him, “think about it…we hold the Rock, and our armies are intact. With Joffrey dead there is no marriage alliance with the Tyrells. When word gets out about this do you really think they will stand by the Lannisters when you have so much more to offer them?”

“You think I want an alliance with those who have turned cloak more times than I care to remember?” Robb asked her incredulously and she sighed. “I never said you had to trust them,” she told him pointedly and he bit down on his lip, pondering her words. “If you had the Tyrells then the Lannisters really would have no other choice than to give you whatever you desire,” Roslin continued before he could speak again. “The Tyrells are no better than sell-swords, the go wherever there is the most gold,” he said in return.

“And who holds the wealth of the Lannisters?” she raised her brow, “No longer is there a lack of wealth in the North. You hold two Kingdoms in your grasp, and the Riverlands. If you have the Reach as well then that is three. Dorne will not move against you and neither will the Vale. The Stormlands are divided and that leaves the Capitol weaker than it has ever been. It would be the easiest thing in the world to take it, easier than it ever was during the last rebellion.”

“Perhaps you should always preside over council,” Robb muttered, a smile twitching his lips that was mirrored in Roslin’s own expression. “It is all there within your grasp, all you need do is reach out and take it,” she told him quietly but firmly and he swallowed hard. “I never wanted the Iron Throne,” he said and she smiled slightly. “Then melt it down,” she said simply, “melt it down and give the crowns of the Kingdoms back to their lords.”

“And how long before one lord or another gets bored with their own Kingdom and decides they want to play at Aegon the Conqueror?” Robb asked her and she bit her lip, the look in her eyes telling him that she was thinking hard. He wondered if she would come up with a solution to this problem as well. He had to admit that he liked her idea of dividing the Kingdoms again. Each liege lord knew how to govern their own lands better than any King sat high up in the Capitol. “Draw up an agreement and have it known by all,” she finally spoke, “agree that if one lord thinks to try and disturb the peace then the other six will crush him. His line will be removed from all power. That ought to be enough to get them to think twice. No one will want their lands taken over by some greedy upstart, and so they would be easily put down with the might of the other Kingdoms.”

“There would have to be some kind of central council,” Robb said, “where representatives from each Kingdom could discuss and decide on matters that effect everyone.” Roslin nodded her agreement at that, her eyes sparkling. “Yes exactly,” she agreed with him happily, “the Capitol will become the head of government, a place for all the Kings to convene should the need arise. And a place where their representatives can hold council.”

“This is madness,” Robb shook his head, a slight laugh escaping his lips. “If we manage this…” he trailed off, his head still shaking. “Then you will be remembered forever as the man who brought peace back to the Seven Kingdoms,” Roslin finished for him, “you can end this war, and you can put an end to one man ruling over all that he can never hope to truly understand.” He was nodding, agreeing with her before he could stop himself. “Your lords made you King because they have no faith in the crown, they cannot be the only ones who feel that way,” Roslin continued, “likely most would be happy to be ruled independently, for the most part they are…only this way there will be no higher power to answer to.”

“And your agreement would keep the peace,” Robb finished for her and it was her turn to nod. “Just think about it,” she breathed, reaching her hand out to cup around his cheek. “If we manage this,” Robb began again, “it is _you_ who will be remembered forever as the greatest queen who ever walked this world. I may have been guilty of underestimating you before Roslin, but never again. Without you we wouldn’t have the Rock, and I would have no idea how to go about ending the war for good. Believe me, I will have it known that _you_ were the true force behind this.”

“Robb…” she began, shaking her head, but he pressed his finger to her lips to silence her. “Credit where it is due, remember?” he raised a brow and a smile lit up her eyes. “I love you Robb Stark,” she murmured when he moved his finger away and he pulled her closer to him. “I love you,” he responded, his eyes on hers for a moment before he cupped around her cheek and encouraged her lips to his. He kissed her softly for the longest time, wishing with all his heart that he could have her entirely. Yet another thing he would have to wait for. “My beautiful, clever wife,” he whispered against her lips when they broke apart, “I thank the Gods that you were sent to me Roslin Stark.”

* * *

“How did you enjoy attending council with the queen?” Jeyne asked when she felt she had recovered her breath enough to speak. “Very much,” Damon replied as he whispered his fingertips up and down her bare back. “She is a magnificent creature,” he went on and Jeyne raised her brows, lifting her head up from his chest so she could look at his face. “Ought I to be jealous?” she asked him teasingly, her head cocked to one side. He slapped her bottom playfully in response and she giggled. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he growled, “but I cannot help but admire her. She has the lords eating out of the palm of her hand, and there is such a fierceness about her that one would not expect.”

“She is full of surprises,” Jeyne agreed with him, remembering their conversation the other night. “It’s a shame,” Damon mused, “I think the two of you would be great friends if there were not so much awkwardness surrounding you.” Jeyne smiled slightly at that, resting her head back down against Damon’s chest. She herself had thought that on occasion, but imagining Robb’s reaction had prevented her from trying to get to know his wife any better. “I’m not sure Robb would agree,” she said lightly and Damon snorted. “He treats her as though she is glass when she is far more akin to steel,” he said.

“With words perhaps,” Jeyne agreed, “but you didn’t see what happened to her, with that man…you cannot blame Robb for being overprotective. Besides, when it comes down to it we are all so easily broken in the end.” Damon hummed in response, his fingers resuming their trails up and down her spine. “Do you think you will continue to serve in her Queensguard when the war is over?” Jeyne asked after a long moment of quiet. “I don’t know,” he answered, “truth be told I had not really thought about it, I don’t even know if there will be any further need for a Queensguard when the war is over.”

“Can you really see Robb disbanding it?” Jeyne asked, her own fingertips tracing patterns against his chest. “Perhaps you have a point,” he chuckled, placing a kiss to the top of her head. “Would you stay with her, go to the North?” Jeyne persisted and he sighed heavily. “Would you rather I didn’t?” he asked in response and she bit her lip. “I don’t know,” she said honestly and he planted another kiss in her hair. “My family’s lands will not pass to me, and neither will yours to you,” he said, “I worked hard to become a knight so I could make my own path and fortune and it led me to be the queen’s head guard. I cannot regret that, not when it meant I found you. If we go north and I continue with the Queensguard then we will have a place to live and enough coin to live comfortably for the rest of our days. Winterfell could no doubt use a healer of your skill as well.”

“It sounds as though you have already made up your mind,” Jeyne said quietly and he sighed, wrapping his arms tightly around her. “We chose our king,” he responded, “if you are really against going then I would not force you, but it is a good position I hold at court, it would be foolish indeed to throw it away without real consideration.” It was Jeyne’s turn to sigh at that, snuggling herself further into Damon’s warm embrace. “We do not need to decide yet, do we?” she questioned him, raising her head to meet his eyes again. “No,” he replied, a slight smile on his face, “we do not need to decide anything just yet.”

“I know how much you enjoy being head of the Queensguard,” she told him, “and I’m not saying I don’t want you to continue but…now we’re married, there are other things to consider. The queen tolerates me well enough here but she may not be quite so forgiving when I am in her home, constantly at court…” she tailed off, shaking her head and Damon stroked his hand through her hair. “You are my wife, I will do anything to make you happy,” he said, meeting her eyes, “and if that means leaving the Queensguard then I will do it. I will do anything for you Jeyne, anything at all, you just need to name it.”


	33. XXXIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos, much appreciated as always.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter!
> 
> :)

* * *

Roslin shook Robb’s shoulder as he cried out again, his arms flailing and almost catching her as she shook even harder. “Robb!” she said sharply. “Robb, wake up!” His eyes flew open in the next moment, the look in them almost unrecognisable as she gazed down on him in the half-light cast by the lantern she had brought in with her. “Roslin?” he gasped out, his eyes wide and scared as they darted about the place before settling on her. “Who else?” she asked him, smoothing her hand across his forehead which was clammy to touch. “What time is it? Has something happened?” he asked her and she shook her head, smoothing his damp curls back from his forehead. “You were dreaming,” she soothed him, “you must have shouted out, I heard you…”

She tailed off as tears welled up in his eyes, his face turning away from her as he choked on a sob. Her hand came to his shoulder, his other hand coming up to his face so he could bite down on his knuckles to force down another sob. “Robb, what is it?” she asked him, unable to keep the slight hint of panic from her voice. She had never seen him cry before, never even come close to seeing it. Even when his mother had gone and he had been agitated she had never seen a tear escape him. Now it seemed as though he couldn’t stop, his body shaking with silent sobs as he bit down even harder on his knuckles. Roslin wanted nothing more than to envelope him into her arms and hold him as tightly as she was able but she couldn’t, not without aggravating his injuries.

“Robb please, you’re scaring me…” she rubbed her hand insistently against his upper arm and he finally took in a deep, shuddering breath. “A stupid…dream,” he forced out and she frowned. “Don’t give me that,” she said insistently, her hand coming to his cheek to turn his eyes towards her. “I can’t,” he said in a strangled voice, his head shaking. “Of course you can, I’m your wife,” she said incredulously, wiping his tearstained cheeks gently with her fingertips. “I couldn’t do anything…I was too…too weak,” he confessed to her and her frown deepened. “Robb -,” she started.

“All gone, and nothing I could do,” he continued on, his tone desperate; “nothing I could do but watch because I’m stuck and useless in this damn bed with this _damn leg!_ ” She flinched slightly as his fist hit hard against the mattress to punctuate his last words. “It was just a bad dream,” she told him calmly but firmly. “You are far from useless Robb Stark,” she continued when he snorted. “I can’t even sit in fucking council,” he snapped at her, “I have to put it all on you and I _hate it!_ ” Again his fist pounded into the mattress but this time she didn’t flinch at the movement. “You and I are one,” she told him, cupping her hands around his cheeks and forcing him to meet her gaze. “When I am weak you are strong, and when you are weak, I am strong. That is how it works,” she said with finality.

“I hate being weak,” he whispered and she took a deep breath, willing her own emotions to stay in check. She had to prove to Robb now that she could cope, that she was indeed strong like she was telling him. “I know it’s frustrating,” she said calmly, “and I know you want nothing more than to be up on your feet again but you have your life, and that is far more than many can boast. There were worse fates you could have met when Bolton turned cloak.” Her eyes stayed insistently on his, watching the mixed feelings battling in the deep blue that blinked up at her. “I am happy to sit in council for you,” she continued when he made no comment.

“You’re with child, all this responsibility shouldn’t be weighing on your shoulders,” he finally spoke and she shook her head, hushing him. He obeyed her and she leaned forwards to press a lingering kiss to his forehead. “The only thing weighing on my shoulders is worry for you,” she breathed against his skin. “I hate seeing you like this, and I hate knowing how miserable you are…if I could do anything to make it better then I would,” she promised him, “but I cannot fix this. You will heal in time Robb, there is nothing else to be done about it. You heard the Maester, he is pleased with your progress so far. Can you not just be happy that you will live to hold your new born child?”

“I’m not ungrateful for my life,” he said after a moment, “and of course I’m happy to have lived, for you and our baby. I just…I just feel so useless Roslin, and I can’t stand it…I just want to _do_ something but I can’t. The dream it just…it just made me realise how much I could lose, and how I wouldn’t be capable of doing a damn thing to stop it.” He sounded almost bitter at the end and she smiled slightly at him, her hand stroking through his hair again. “A dream can’t hurt you,” she said soothingly, “nothing can hurt you because I won’t let it, do you hear me?”

“I hear you,” he whispered, nodding his head, and she smiled in response. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep again,” she promised, stroking his hair repeatedly until a heavy sigh left him. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he said faintly before he closed his eyes. She smiled slightly on hearing that but refrained from answering, instead just continuing stroking through his hair until she was absolutely certain that he was asleep again.

* * *

“Ready your men,” Catelyn said as soon as she reached the bottom of the letter that the Smalljon had handed to her. “My lady?” he looked confused as she looked up to meet his eyes. “I said ready your men!” she repeated more commandingly. “We must ride back to Casterly Rock at once, Robb has been injured.” The Smalljon’s eyes widened at that and he stuttered out his agreement at once before bowing shortly and heading for the doors of the dining hall. “Mother?” Arya’s voice sounding behind her had her taking a deep, calming breath before she turned to her daughter. “Robb has taken the Rock,” she told her with a forced smile. “And been injured in the process?” Arya guessed, one of her brows raising. “Bolton,” Catelyn told her heavily and Arya’s eyes widened. “I hope his head is on a spike!” she spat. “Was Robb badly injured?”

“They are hopeful he will be fine, he is being well tended,” Catelyn said soothingly, hoping it would placate her daughter. “You won’t leave me here will you?” Arya asked fearfully, her hand coming to snatch at one of Catelyn’s. “No, of course not,” she soothed her at once, “Robb’s forces hold the Rock and the traitors are imprisoned. You will be just as safe there as you are here, more so perhaps.” Arya looked relieved at that and Catelyn squeezed her hand tightly for a moment. “Best you gather your things, we will be leaving before the hour is up,” she advised Arya and her daughter nodded her head before dropping her hand and heading for the doors at once.

Catelyn watched her go, forcing herself to take deep, even breaths to steady her emotions as she did so. She hadn’t been sure what to expect from the letter she had been handed but it was not the news that Robb had been hurt. Her eyes closed as she clenched the parchment tightly in her fist, her lips moving as she uttered a silent prayer to the mother. From the hastily written words she knew that Robb had been betrayed by Bolton who had meant to kill him. He had a nasty wound to his stomach and a broken leg. She knew well enough that that would mean bedrest for a good month, or perhaps even longer. Gods, she hoped her son was healing well. She knew well enough that being cooped up in one space for such a long time would drive him half mad.

Gods, she felt such a hatred for Lord Bolton coursing through her veins as her steps took her out of the hallway and up towards her bedchamber. She had thought her hatred of the Lannisters ran deep but now she had something to rival it. Bolton was supposed to be her son’s loyal bannerman, as he had been Ned’s loyal bannerman. She knew there was a dark history to the house but she never could have guessed that the darkness would come back to consume it again. Vaguely she wondered what would become of the Dreadfort now that Bolton had been deposed. Perhaps Robb would gift it to one of his loyal men, or perhaps divide up the lands and share them between his loyal lords. Whatever happened she could only hope that such a monstrous betrayal would never be repeated.

She tossed her belongings into her trunk, not even bothering with folding anything neatly. Creased clothing was the last thing on her mind right now. Right now she wanted to be saddled up on a horse and galloping towards the Rock as quickly as possible. Thank the Gods Arya had always been a far more than adequate rider. Doubtless she would relish the quick speed. That thought was enough to bring a slight smile to Catelyn’s lips for a moment. She threw her last pair of shoes and a few books into the trunk before she slammed it shut, hauling it off the bed and to the door. Out in the hallway she saw a servant and called for them to bring it down to the courtyard for her. He agreed readily and she managed to thank him before making her way down the hallway to Arya’s chambers.

Her daughter was already approaching when she rounded the corner and she forced another smile to her face. “Packed already?” she asked and Arya grinned. “I didn’t think it would matter if my clothes weren’t nicely folded,” Arya said and Catelyn managed a light laugh. “No, I didn’t either,” she replied, offering her hand to Arya and feeling overjoyed when it was taken. “Will we go right away?” Arya questioned her as they made their way down the hallways. “Yes, just as soon as everything is ready,” Catelyn replied to her.

“How long will it take to get to the Rock?” Arya asked her next. “A week,” Catelyn replied, “a little less if the Gods are good and our horses are swift.” She hoped and prayed that they would be swift, that they would arrive quickly so she could see her baby boy with her own eyes. He may well be a man grown but thinking of Robb injured just made her remember him as a child. A tiny little thing who was helpless against the world with only her for protection. She swallowed hard and blinked back the tears that were stinging her eyes, determined to keep herself together for Arya’s sake. “I can’t wait to see Robb again,” Arya said quietly as they emerged into the courtyard. Catelyn looked down on her, seeing the faraway look in her eyes. “I know,” she smiled slightly, “and I know he will be beside himself on seeing you again.”

* * *

Jeyne sat herself down in the window seat that overlooked the sea, slowly threading her needle so she could continue on with her embroidery. She was making a set of cushions for when she and Damon had a home of their own. It was not much, but something she enjoyed doing when she had a free moment away from the injured men and when Damon was busy elsewhere. She imagined he were still with the queen in council, from what he had told her there was an awful lot for them to discuss and decide on now that news had come that Joffrey was dead. A contented sigh left her as she began placing stitch after stitch into her work. This particular one was almost finished now, she just needed to complete the blue of the sky that hung above the trees and the meadow of wildflowers that she had already stitched.

She became so absorbed in her work that she didn’t notice Damon had returned until she heard the clank of him removing his armour. Her eyes lifted then and she sent a beaming smile towards him which he returned before making his way towards her. “You seemed in your own little world,” he commented, “I was loath to disturb you.”

“And yet you did,” she retorted and he bent his head to kiss her slowly for a long moment. “I missed you,” he breathed out against her lips when he pulled back. “How did it go in council?” she asked him when he straightened up. “Eventful,” he answered, running a hand through his hair. “How so?” she asked him curiously and he came to seat himself next to her. “It seems the King would split the Kingdoms again, have seven kings again the way it was before the dragons came,” he told her and her eyes widened. “By the Gods…I did not expect such a thing,” she said honestly.

“No,” he agreed with her, “but I suppose it makes sense. What else can he do if he does not want the Iron Throne for himself nor trust anyone else with it?” Jeyne shrugged at that, placing another few stitches into her embroidery. “I suppose,” she agreed after a moment, a slight frown creasing her brow. “Something ought to be done about that,” Damon said, touching her forehead lightly. “Not right at this moment,” she said firmly, recognising the lust in his voice. “I have been craving you all day,” he murmured, leaning in to smother her neck with kisses. “Would you deny your husband?”

She squirmed in response, trying with some difficulty to continue with her embroidery. “If you could exercise patience for a few minutes, I have almost finished,” she said pointedly, but his ministrations did not cease. “Damon…” she whined as his hand travelled high up on her thigh. “By all means continue,” he growled against her skin, “I shall do nothing to hinder your progress.”

“Thank you,” Jeyne said as he pulled his lips from her skin and made to shift from the window seat. He didn’t go far, dropping to his knees before her. “It is a shameful thing you do wife, to reduce me to my knees,” he said, his lips tugging up on one side and a predatory look in his eyes. “Damon…” she began warningly but his hands were already slowly inching up her skirts. “Oh how cruel it is, to make me beg,” he muttered against her thigh as he began trailing kisses up along the inside of it. Jeyne breathed in sharply, having to concentrate incredibly hard so that she didn’t stab herself with her needle. He pressed kisses higher and higher, his teeth grazing her skin lightly as he travelled further beneath her skirts. “You are a bad man,” her admonishment became a gasp as he reached his destination.

“Oh, Gods,” she squirmed as he lapped his tongue between her thighs, her needlework abandoned at her side as she arched her back into him. Her hips rocked of their own accord and Damon’s hands crept under her skirts to press her thighs back to keep her in place. She forced the air into her lungs, a strangled cry leaving her as he worked his tongue harder, her stomach beginning to clench in anticipation. “Oh Gods…stop,” she whined out, her hips trying to buck again as she collapsed back against the cushions and the window as she began to lose control of her body. If Damon continued on then she imagined the pleasure may well kill her. Her lower stomach was clenched so tightly that it was almost agony as Damon’s tongue continued to swirl and lick at her.

Again her hips were trying to rock, her body trying to twist and writhe but he pinned her in place and prolonged her sweet agony. Finally, just as she thought she was about to pass out, her body peaked and she shook more violently than ever before, his name flying from her lips as she slumped even further down in the window seat. He kissed down her other thigh after a long moment, his head re-emerging from beneath her skirts to grin at her. She could do nothing in response as she lay there with her head spinning and her thighs still twitching slightly every few moments. In all likelihood she probably looked completely wanton and undignified but she could not care less. Damon came to hover above her, bracing his hands on either side of her body as he lowered himself to press a kiss to her neck and along towards her mouth. “Well,” he said slyly after he kissed at her lips for a long moment, “did you finish your needlework?”

* * *

He could see the sun seeking down beneath the ramparts through the window. Roslin had yet to come to close the drapes and he hadn’t even thought to ask Olyvar to do it before he left. In truth, Robb had wanted nothing more than for his good-brother to leave him alone after he had helped him to relieve himself. He hated being so vulnerable, to have to rely on others to do the simplest of things. He could not even go to the privy by himself, nor feed himself in a manner that didn’t have half of it spilling down him. It was like being a child again, but worse because he couldn’t move. He couldn’t go out and run around the courtyard or watch the older boys and men in the tiltyard. There was no question of him getting atop a pony and having Ser Rodrik lead him round the yard nor his father show him how to hold himself properly in the saddle.

Before he knew it tears were stinging his eyes again and he closed them tightly, willing himself not to cry. He had hated being so weak in front of Roslin when he had woken in the middle of the night. More so he hated that she had heard him crying out through the walls. If she had heard him then he had no doubt that the men guarding him would have heard him as well. He moved his hands up to his face and rubbed up and down them, trying to quell his dark thoughts. Being stuck here like this just gave him time to think and brood. He had time to think about his father and how much he missed him, how much his death had changed so much and how he had never really had the chance to mourn him. Bran crept frequently in his mind, always alone and helpless in the snow with a blizzard raging around him and no sign of help coming for him. There had still been no word from the Wall, nothing even from Jon, and that only served to make Robb worry more and more for his brother.

His dreams of Roslin were worse. In some she would die, and he would be incapable of stopping it from happening. It would happen right here in this room, Bolton somehow escaping his chains and ripping the life from her right before him. In others he could hear her screams through the walls and he knew she was on her childbed. Eventually the screams would stop and a blood-soaked Jeyne would come to him with shaking hands and tell him that he had lost her, lost them both. In others the baby survived but he had been unable to look at it. Sometimes it would be the other way around, and he would have to lay here helpless and listen to Roslin sobbing through the walls as she mourned their lifeless baby. The thought of any of it just made him want to retch, his stomach churning almost unbearably.

Almost as bad were the dreams where he was gone and Roslin lived on. She would wear black and mourn him, her stomach growing more and more rounded without him. He would never feel the baby through her skin, nor hold it in his arms when she battled to bring it into the world. Sometimes he imagined a son, and other times it was a daughter with the dark pools of her mother. They would grow without him, Roslin would go on without him. Another man would teach them how to ride a pony. Another man would teach his son how to hold a sword, perhaps the Greatjon or his son, or sometimes Olyvar. Sometimes it was another man altogether, another man he had no name for. This man would be the man who got Roslin to wear colours again, to make her laugh again. She would remarry, and this man would have everything that was lost to him and more besides it. It would be this man that his child would call papa.

Robb forced his eyes open as the sound of the door opening interrupted his dark thoughts. It was Roslin, and the mere sight of her was almost enough to make him break down and cry. “I can’t describe how good it is to see you,” he said before he could stop himself and she approached him at once. “Please tell me you have not been tormenting yourself over these ridiculous dreams,” she said knowingly as she perched at his side, his hand coming to find hers. “My imagination runs away with me stuck in here,” he said in response and she sighed heavily before leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. “Then perhaps you ought to try imagining something good,” she said pointedly when she pulled away. “I don’t need to imagine,” his smile came easier this time, “it is already here.”

The faint blush that he loved to cause rose up on her cheeks at his words, and he determinedly pushed his horrible dreams and imaginings to the back of his mind. Roslin was here and real and perfect, that was what he needed to focus on. He moved his hand to her stomach, feeling the slight roundness of it through the silks of her dress. He missed feeling her bare and soft and warm against him. Missed cradling her against him, their skin moulding together as they enveloped around one another so perfectly that he imagined it were always meant to be. “It moves so strongly now,” she told him, pride dripping from her tone, “I imagine it won’t be long until you can feel it too.”

“I cannot wait,” he smiled. That was something to aim for. Something to look forward to. Perhaps he would be allowed to sit properly upright by then. If that were the case he could snuggle Roslin in the nook of his shoulder and look into her eyes when he felt their baby move for the first time. It was the one thing keeping him from going utterly mad and hauling himself out of this damned bed, the thought of her and their unborn child needing him fit and healthy. To be that again he needed to stay in this bed and do as he was told, no matter how mind-numbing and soul destroying it may be. Roslin was his light, and so long as she kept brightening his days and pulling him from his dark thoughts, he would manage this. He was almost certain of it.


	34. XXXIV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos, means a lot.
> 
> Also, big thanks to Ayoh for the comment, glad you're caught up and are still enjoying!
> 
> :)

* * *

Roslin was up on the ramparts, Ser Damon a few feet away leaning casually against the wall as she looked up at the fluttering banners. She had been up here all morning, since she had left Robb after helping him with his breakfast. He had had a particularly bad night the night before. All week he had woken in the night, calling out and being utterly confused and terrified when she shook him awake. After two days of it she had had the men bring another bed into his chambers so she no longer had to be separated from him at night. It was not the same as pressing herself close to him and sleeping in his arms but at least she was there when the dreams came. At least she could wake him as quickly as possible. She had practically begged him to ask the Maester for dream wine but he was stubborn, refusing to admit it to anyone. He had even demanded that she tell the guards outside his chambers that they must speak of what they heard to no one.

It was being outside he missed the most, his gaze often drifting almost longingly out of the window. Once his stomach was better healed and the stitches removed then he would be able to begin working at walking with sticks. That was still a good few weeks off though, and Roslin was dreading the time as it seemed to drag more and more with every passing day. This past week had felt like a month or more, and she knew it felt even longer to Robb. She could still escape, go outside and go to council to speak with various people. Robb allowed few people to visit him, only her and Olyvar, the Greatjon and Lord Tully. Ser Damon was allowed on occasion, but only if he had come to escort Roslin to one place or another. More often than not he remained outside, he seemed to know instinctively that his presence was unhelpful. It wasn’t his fault, Robb seemed resentful of any man who could walk on his own two feet unaided.

It would pass in time, that’s what Roslin kept telling herself as she continued wielding the stick of charcoal between her fingers. She had almost finished her drawing and she hoped that it would bring Robb a little cheer, and not have the opposite effect. Another few minutes had her satisfied that she had captured her desired scene, and so she blew the loose charcoal dust from the parchment before closing her book. When she stood Ser Damon straightened up from where he was leaning against the battlements and she smiled at him. He returned her smile, gesturing for her to walk ahead of him as ever. She did as she was bid, walking along the ramparts to the stone steps that led back down to the courtyard. Halfway down a shout went up to open up the gates and her heart began to pound. Her steps were more hurried as she made her way down, picking up her skirts so she could move more quickly.

“Who is it?” she demanded of a passing guard as he made his way towards the gatehouse. “Lady Stark and her party, my queen,” he bowed shortly and she thanked him, smoothing out her skirts and taking a deep breath. Her steps were more calmly measured as she made her way to the main courtyard where Catelyn and her guard would soon be entering. She came to a stop at the foot of the steps up to the keep and swallowed hard, glancing up at Ser Damon who gave her an encouraging nod and smile. The clattering of hooves met her ears in the next moment and before long the head of the party was riding into view. Stable boys and squires were coming forwards at once to aid with the horses but Roslin’s eyes were only for her good-mother.

She dismounted with the aid of the Smalljon, her steps brisk as she made her way towards Roslin. Roslin opened her mouth, her words not yet chosen, but before she could utter a thing she was in Catelyn’s motherly embrace. “I am so glad to see you,” her good-mother’s voice was shaky to say the least. “How is he?” she asked when she pulled back, her blue eyes shining with worry. “Healing, but frustrated,” Roslin told her, the best way she could describe him at the moment. “Good,” she smiled, “he would not be Robb if he were not infuriated by the situation. How long has he left abed?”

“The Maester thinks he may be able to remove the stitches from his stomach in a few weeks, his leg will take longer to heal but if his wound is better then he will be able to walk on sticks at the least,” Roslin reported to her and Catelyn nodded slowly, her attention caught by a dark haired girl who looked just like the Starks that Roslin had always heard described. “You must be Arya,” she said with a smile, and the younger girl nodded, her eyes slightly suspicious. “This is Roslin,” Catelyn introduced her, “Robb’s wife and queen.”

“Hello,” Arya said quietly, shuffling from foot to foot and glancing towards the doors of the keep. “Gods, you must want to see him so badly,” Roslin said, “and here I am keeping you out here, come, I can take you to him right away.” At that Arya seemed to brighten slightly and Catelyn sent an encouraging smile to Roslin. “He is on the ground floor, along the hallway to the left – the one with all the guards outside!” Roslin had to raise her voice towards the end as Arya took the steps up to the doors two at a time. “She is desperate to see him again,” Catelyn told her, looping her arm through Roslin’s as they took they steps at a far more dignified pace. “I cannot blame her for that,” Roslin said, “either of you.”

“I will let Arya have a moment,” Catelyn smiled as they made their way slowly into the entrance hall. “Besides, I have yet to congratulate you,” her good-mother’s eyes slid from Roslin’s face down to her stomach and she blinked stupidly. With all that had happened so quickly she had never even thought of writing news of her pregnancy to Catelyn. “How did you know?” she asked her wonderingly, a smile coming to play at her lips. “It is entirely obvious,” Catelyn had a beaming smile of her own on her face, “you have a glow about you that only an expectant mother can have.”

* * *

Robb jumped as the door flew open, his movement sending pain rippling into his stomach that had him hissing through his teeth. His pain was the last thing on his mind though when his eyes landed on who had burst into his room. “Arya!” it came out half laugh and half strangled cry and his little sister came hurtling towards him. She seemed to check her speed when she reached the edge of the bed, hauling herself to his side carefully and moving so she could wrap her arms around his neck. He held her back as tightly as he could manage, his head burying in her shoulder so she wouldn’t see his tears. Grey Wind was yapping and whining excitedly behind Arya and Robb prised her away after a long moment so he could look at her properly. She was still Arya, just a little older and slightly wilder looking. An incredulous laugh slipped through his lips as she grinned at him, tears tracking quickly and quietly down her cheek.

He lifted his hand to wipe them away as Grey Wind finally lost patience and bounded up onto the bed, his tongue coming to lick at Arya’s face. “Grey Wind, Gods!” she giggled at him, shoving him half-heartedly away with her hands. “I think he’s missed you almost as much as I have,” Robb commented and she grinned even more widely, finally succeeding in pushing Grey Wind away. He slumped his body down against the bed and rested his head down in Arya’s lap, her hand coming to stroke him gently. “You’re going to have a pretty amazing scar,” Arya commented almost enviously as she eyed his bandages and he chuckled. “I already have one running the length of my ribs,” he told her and she snorted slightly. “You do know you’re supposed to dodge the pointy end, right?” she raised a brow.

“Easier said than done when you’re flat on your back and a traitor’s boot is resting on your chest,” he told her in response and her eyes widened. “Pretty rubbish traitor, should have stabbed you through the heart and had done with it,” she said and he couldn’t help but laugh, a proper laugh. Gods he was glad Arya was here, her dark humour seemed just the thing he needed right now. “I think he was savouring his moment,” Robb said when he managed to stop laughing. “Idiot,” Arya muttered, “did you at least muster up some good final words?”

“Like what?” Robb asked her with a raised brow and she smiled wickedly. “I don’t know…like… ‘the North will never bow down to you flaying bastards’,” she suggested and he laughed again until his ribs began to ache and his stomach shot through with pain. “Gods, enough…” he shook his head, “this is doing nothing for my injuries, and you’d best not repeat that in front of mother.”

“You might be right there,” she said wryly and he smiled at her. “What were they then, your _final words?_ ” she said dramatically and he snorted. “I just remember saying Roslin’s name,” he said, his expression becoming serious, “and then I remember nothing, not until I woke up here.” Arya considered him for a long moment, her hand still stroking through Grey Wind’s fur. “Was she here when you woke up?” she finally asked and Robb nodded his head. “She is always here when I wake up,” he said and his sister seemed satisfied. “Good,” she said, “I saw her when we arrived, I think she’ll be here soon with mother.”

“Good,” it was his turn to say, and they lapsed into silence for a moment. Robb had a thousand and one questions that he wanted to ask her but at the same time he was happy not knowing. She had been out in the wilds for so long, part of him could still not quite comprehend how she had survived it. “I love you,” he said after a long moment of considering her and her lips twitched up. “I love you too,” she said quietly and he smiled slightly, only turning his head away from her when the door opened again. “Mother,” he greeted happily and she smiled widely at him, her eyes shining. “By the Gods am I glad to see you,” his mother said, coming to the other side of the bed. “Both of you, here together.”

“It will not be long until all of us are together again, I am sure of it,” Robb said as his mother perched at his side and stroked her hand through his hair. “Has she told you about all of her adventures?” she asked, glancing towards Arya with a slight smile. “Not as yet,” Robb replied, pleased that his mother didn’t seem to have any worries regarding them. He was satisfied at least that nothing terrible had happened to her in her time away. “I expect you have many a tale,” he addressed his sister, “no doubt you can keep me entertained while I’m stuck here.”

“You will have plenty of company now when I must be elsewhere,” Roslin spoke up from the foot of his bed and he smiled at her. “Yes, I will,” he agreed with her, unable to keep the smile from his face. Likely the darkness would spring up again at some point but right now he felt as light as air, surrounded by his sister, his mother and his wife. Slowly his family was knitting itself back together, and he determined that by the end of this that he would have them all back together and safe behind the walls of Winterfell where they belonged.

“We ought to get ourselves settled,” his mother addressed Arya and his sister pouted at once. “Can’t I stay here with Robb?” she asked and he reached over to ruffle her hair. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, “mother’s right, you ought to get yourself settled in your new rooms. The Greatjon has seen to it, they are just down the hallway.” Arya grumbled her agreement then, gently shifting Grey Wind’s head from her lap before she got up off the bed. “Perhaps we can take dinner together later?” his mother suggested and he forced a smile. “Perhaps,” he agreed, trying not to think how humiliating for him it would be to have more people see him spoon fed by his wife. “Try and rest,” his mother said soothingly, leaning over him and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “See you later,” Arya said slightly moodily and he smiled more easily this time.

They both made for the door then and Roslin moved to his side as they slipped out, Arya throwing one more anxious look his way before it closed behind them. “You must be so pleased to have them here,” Roslin commented as she took his hand, Grey Wind’s head coming to nudge gently against her stomach. “Aye,” he agreed with her, “so pleased.” She smiled at him, leaning in closer and resting her head down against his shoulder. “I’ve brought you something,” she said after a minute or two of quiet, lifting her head back up. “And what is that?” he asked her as she moved off the bed and to the side table to pick up her sketching book. “I know it isn’t the same as being able to see it with your own eyes,” she said as she approached him again, “but I know it is what you wanted to see above all else when you took the Rock.”

Before he could question her she had flipped open the book and offered it towards him. He took it curiously, turning it so he could see the image she had drawn on the parchment. His lips tugged up at once as his eyes took it in, the picture of the Stark banners fluttering high above the Rock made his heart accelerate a little bit. He was so touched that Roslin had remembered his desire to see such a sight, and even more touched that she had clearly spent so much time recreating the image for him. “This is perfect,” he told her honestly, raising his eyes from the page to meet her own. “When you are healed you can see it for yourself,” she told him, “but until then, you at least know what is waiting out there to greet you.”

“You are so wonderful,” he breathed, setting the book aside and encouraging her closer to him. When she moved close enough he raised his arms and cupped his hands gently around her cheeks. She smiled in response, a relieved smile tugging at her lips as she rested her own hands on his forearms. For several minutes they just stayed like that, gazing into one another’s eyes. Robb found it hard to bring himself to look away, only breaking eye contact with her when he gently pulled her forwards so he could press his lips to hers. Her returning kiss was so tender and sweet that he did not want it to end, savouring every moment that it lasted. When she did pull away she pressed a little kiss to the tip of his nose and then to his forehead. “I’m glad you like it,” she whispered against his skin and he closed his eyes at her words. “Perhaps tonight you shall dream of that instead.”

* * *

Catelyn had done her best to keep a smile on her face throughout dinner. Arya had been smiling and happy as she relayed several of her more amusing tales to Robb. He had laughed and asked all the right questions but whenever Arya’s attention had not been on him his expression had darkened, his eyes losing their light. Roslin noticed it as well, Catelyn could tell by her behaviour, the way her hand would add pressure to Robb’s whenever his mood appeared to be slipping. Seeing her good-daughter feed Robb his dinner had almost been enough to break her. Robb was a proud man, a strong man. Knowing what it must do to him inside to be so dependent on others around him had her wanting to break down. He had managed through dinner, and had encouraged Roslin to leave with them when she and Arya had said their goodnights.

His wife had been reluctant, but he had urged her to go when Catelyn had suggested a drink before bed. Catelyn knew well enough that he would likely brood the entire time he was alone but at the same time she sensed that he needed a moment to himself. Roslin would return soon enough, Catelyn had noted the single bed shoved in the corner of the room and decorated with cushions so that at first glance it could be mistaken for a sofa. Catelyn knew well enough that her good-daughter likely slept there, and she was almost afraid of the reason why. Roslin had her own chambers right next to Robb’s, she must be worried indeed for him if she had abandoned them to sleep in a quiet corner of his own rooms. She had determined to get the truth from her good-daughter, packing Arya off to bed as soon as they vacated Robb’s chambers.

They were sat in her own now, a cup of wine in her hand and a cup of honey and lemon tea cupped between Roslin’s own. Catelyn smiled faintly, the realisation that she was expecting a grandchild was enough to help keep her spirits raised just high enough. “How is he really?” Catelyn asked Roslin after a long moment and she took in a great shuddering breath before answering. “Night times are the worst,” she confessed, “since his dose of milk of the poppy has been reduced he has been having dreams. He won’t tell me what about, not properly at least but he lets enough slip that I can work it out for myself. He fears losing us all and being powerless to stop it because of what has happened to him. I tell him time and time again that nothing can touch us here but still the nightmares come and it is all I can do to calm him down and keep him still.”

Her voice was strangled by then end and Catelyn could see her visibly struggling to hold her emotions together. “I’ll stay with him tonight,” Catelyn said after a moment, the only thing she could think to do. “You need to rest, especially in your condition, have a break Roslin.” Roslin shook her head at that, raising her shaking hands so she could take a sip of tea. “I can’t,” she said, “he would be devastated if he knew I had told you about this. He will not even allow me to tell the Maester so he can be brought some dream wine. Gods…he is so damn stubborn. But what can I do? I can’t just leave him screaming out into the night…”

“Of course not,” Catelyn soothed her, “but this isn’t fair on you, having to look after him like this. I know you w _ant_ to,” she continued quickly as Roslin opened her mouth, most likely to protest. “But you need to think of your own health and the health of the baby,” Catelyn stressed, “you have enough to contend with fulfilling all of Robb’s duties while he is recovering, you cannot keep pushing yourself in such a way. It isn’t good for you, Robb wouldn’t want you to compromise your own health, especially with you being with child.”

“I am the only one he can be honest with,” Roslin returned, “and while that is still the case I can do nothing but be there for him, I have no other choice.” She sounded so desperate it was all Catelyn could do not to get up and envelope her into her arms. “Let me help you,” Catelyn urged her but she shook her head. Damn it all she was just as stubborn as Robb. “I promise him over and over that I will tell no one,” she said, “he feels so weak, so utterly emasculated and I hate seeing him that way. Do you think I can’t see what it does to him that I have to feed him his meals? Do you think I can’t see how humiliated he feels when Olyvar has to help him to the bathroom? Right now he can still confide in me and I won’t risk that. If he can no longer unburden himself to me then he will keep it all inside and if he does that I am terrified that he will slip away from me for good.”

She took a sharp intake of breath when she came to the end and Catelyn knew she was battling her emotions, willing herself not to break down in tears. For a wild moment Catelyn wished she had never gone to Riverrun, she wished she had stayed here with Robb and Roslin. Perhaps then things could have turned out differently. Roslin had her hand pressed to her forehead as she took deep, calming breaths and when she looked back up again she was perfectly composed. “This is how I have to be now,” Roslin confessed when she met Catelyn’s concerned gaze. “Not with me,” Catelyn told her softly, “you can let it all out with me, there is no need to pretend nor hide it away.”

Almost as soon as the words left her Roslin broke down, her cup of tea sliding from her grasp and smashing against the polished wooden boards as her body shook with sobs. Catelyn was off her seat in an instant, ignoring the smashed china and kneeling before her good-daughter to pull her into her arms. Roslin didn’t protest, almost collapsing against her and clinging to her tightly as she let out the emotion that Catelyn imagined she had been supressing since Robb had first opened his eyes. “Hush now, it’s alright,” Catelyn soothed her, rubbing her hand up and down her back. “It’s all alright now, I’m here,” she continued on, “I’m here and I will help you however I can, even if it is just a shoulder to cry on.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Roslin choked out, if possible clinging even more tightly to her. “Part of me just wants to…to ignore him…to go to the Maester…and demand the dream wine for him. But…but I’m afraid of how he will look at me if…if I do that. He would see it as…as another betrayal and I…I can’t Catelyn…I can’t have him look at me like that. I…I love him…too much.” She sobbed even harder at the end and Catelyn could do nothing but continue hushing her and rubbing at her back in what she hoped was a soothing manner. “You will work it out Roslin, I know you will,” she encouraged her, “you are a clever young woman and if anyone can pull Robb from this it is you. Just know that if you ever need anyone or anything that you can come to me. I will keep your confidence and I swear, if you think it is for the best then I will not make Robb aware that I know the truth.”

“Thank you,” Roslin choked out in a tiny voice and Catelyn smiled wryly, wishing with everything she had that she could take her pain away. Take Robb’s pain away. She wished she were all-powerful, that through her sheer force of will she could make all of this better. All she could do though was be here for the one’s she loved and pray hard for them. Perhaps the Gods would listen in the end, perhaps they would show mercy to her family and allow them all to come together again. She could only hope that that would be the case. That in the end they would all be allowed to be safe and happy once more where no evil could ever touch them.


	35. XXXV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter!!
> 
> Thank you all for the kudos, and to solarisday for the lovely comment.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter!
> 
> :)

* * *

“Damn it all, I knew he would find out eventually,” Roslin cursed as she read through the letter that Olyvar had laid before her. She could feel the lords’ eyes on her but she was not yet ready to raise her head and look at them. The letter was from her father, to the untrained eye it was expressing his happiness on hearing that Arya had been found. Roslin could read the underlying meaning though, knowing that her father would not have forgotten that Arya had been promised in marriage to young Walder. She sighed heavily. Perhaps with some needling she could get her father to reconsider, to at least afford Arya the same luxury of choice that Robb had had. She knew that Robb hadn’t been happy about forcing a marriage for Arya, but at the same time he had felt he had no choice. Just like he himself had had no choice.

Roslin rolled the parchment back up and finally lifted her head to survey the lords. The reply to her father could wait, right now there were important matters of council to conduct. “Not ill news I hope, my queen,” Lord Tully spoke first and she shook her head, forcing a smile to her face. “Just familial correspondence,” she said lightly, “nothing to be concerned with.” She held the letter back out to Olyvar, fixing him with a meaningful look when he took it. With that she turned her attention back to the lords, he eyes lingering on the Greatjon. “Do we have any word from the Capitol?” she asked with raised brows and he shook his head. “No my queen,” he answered her and she made a frustrated noise. “We have had word from the Wall however.”

“What word?” she asked sharply, thinking of Bran and Jon and hoping it was good news for Robb’s sake as much as their own. “The Lord Commander is dead, the King’s bastard brother has been injured in a suspected wilding attack. He is recovering at the Wall but from the letter I can conclude that he had been out beyond it for a long time. He has not received any of the King’s letters about the little Lord Bran,” the Greatjon said and it was all she could do not to put her head in her hands and weep. “Who is in command at the Wall now?” she asked instead and the Greatjon consulted one of several pieces of parchment in front of him. “Alliser Thorne, until a new commander is chosen,” he reported to her and she nodded slowly.

“Write to him,” she said, “I want us kept informed of Jon’s condition. And I want it known that if Bran should be discovered by them that the Watch will be rewarded handsomely for keeping him safe behind it and keeping him in as much comfort as they can allow until we have the means to bring him home.” The Greatjon nodded his head at that, uttering his agreement and elbowing the squire sat at his side. His squire immediately set about writing down a few lines and Roslin watched the progress of his hand for a moment before she snapped her eyes away. “I think plans ought to be made to discuss the new plans for the Kingdoms,” she said.

“While I agree in principal to the new plans, I cannot help but feel it may not be quite as simple to implement them,” Lord Flint spoke up and several other faces grimaced. “Best we just focus on the North, leave the southerners to their squabbling,” the Greatjon said dismissively and more than one voice spoke up to agree with him. “With all due respect my lord, the Riverlands have followed the King into this as well, would you just abandon us to our fate?” Lord Tully asked and his banners voiced their agreement, some glaring angrily towards the northern lords who had agreed to the Greatjon’s suggestion. “Of course that is not what Lord Umber is suggesting,” Roslin said soothingly, sending a rather insistent look his way.

“Forgive me my queen, but that is how it sounded,” Lord Tully replied and the Greatjon narrowed his eyes. “We all want to go home,” Roslin said quickly before any argument could flare up. She needed unity in this matter more than any other. “I understand your desire to protect the North a _nd the Riverlands_ ,” Roslin stressed, her eyes on the Greatjon, “but the south will not be in a state of turmoil forever. At some point in the future some lord or other from some house will rise up and take the throne, and when they do their eyes will turn to us and we will have another potential war on our hands. I don’t want that, I don’t want that for any of us, or for our children if we are already dead and gone. I want peace, and I am determined that we should have it.”

“Seven Kings for seven kingdoms,” Maege Mormont nodded her head, “I agree with Lord Flint, the principle cannot be faulted, but there is not the same honour here in the south. Men get greedy, once they have a taste of something they want more. One Kingdom is not enough, they want another, and then another, and before we know it we have another Aegon the Conqueror to contend with. I fear war will come for us again, or come for our children or our children’s children, whatever plans we conjure up to try and stop it.”

“But we must try,” Roslin insisted, “surely we must try. At least then we will know we did everything in our power to at least have some hope of achieving a lasting peace. You have read the draught treaty, tell me my lords why anyone would risk an uprising when the might of six other kingdoms would come down on him?”

“Because Lady Mormont is right,” Lord Cerwyn said, “it only takes one fool to get ideas above his station. One young upstart who is bored with the boundaries of his own lands. Why be content with merely governing the Reach when he could invade the Westerlands and take all that gold? Why be content with the tiny expanse that is the Crownlands when the vastness of Dorne is so nearby? I agree my queen, that this solution of yours would be the best thing to happen, but I hold no faith in the honour of southerners, and I have no faith that they would keep to this agreement if you managed to make them sign it.”

“Then what can we do?” Roslin asked them almost desperately, looking around at their faces and seeing in their eyes that not one of them had another idea. “Build another fucking wall along the border between the Riverlands and the south,” the Greatjon said and a few smiles twitched up. Roslin managed a half-hearted attempt, knowing that the seasoned commander was only half joking. “Take the Iron Throne,” someone else suggested but Roslin shook her head at once. “Robb doesn’t want it,” she said with finality, “his home is Winterfell, he would not sit the Iron Throne, not for anything.” Murmurs of agreement greeted her words and she had never been so glad to hear them. “Then it doesn’t seem as though we have much choice,” the Greatjon said, “we end the Lannisters and we split the Kingdoms, it seems the only way. If it works then it works, if it doesn’t…well, I think we are more than capable of winning another war.”

* * *

Jeyne was carefully chopping roots in the little kitchen that the Maester had been given a free run of. He had trusted her to make up some more milk of the poppy and other simple pain remedies for the injured men and she was determined to do it perfectly. If she mastered this then she might one day be able to run a small clinic of her own. Thankfully Damon seemed supportive of her new venture, tentatively suggesting that there would likely be premises available at Winterfell. She had nodded and smiled at that, her mind racing as she thought about it. Part of her would love to go North, begin a new life somewhere unknown and exciting. The other part of her thought that it would be selfish to impose her presence on the queen. They may have made some kind of peace but they were far from friends, and Jeyne doubted that they ever would be.

Her troubled thoughts of Winterfell were pushed to the back of her mind though as she continued chopping up the roots as finely as she could. A light knock on the door made her jump, and she placed the knife down and turned, seeing the queen stood there beside the open door, her fist still resting against the wood. “My queen,” Jeyne curtseyed at once, “can I help you with something?” She moved further into the room, closing the door behind her. Jeyne frowned slightly at the action, really looking at the queen now when she turned back to face her. She looked utterly exhausted, and the look in her eyes was almost desperate and pleading as she met Jeyne’s own for a moment. “I didn’t know where else to come,” she said faintly.

“Are you quite well?” Jeyne asked her concernedly, moving closer to her. She wanted to place her hands on her shoulders and guide her to sit down but she hesitated, wary of touching her without invitation. “I don’t know what to do,” the queen said, her voice cracking. “I don’t think I can take another night of it, I have barely slept in over a week,” she continued on and Jeyne’s frown only deepened. “He has begged me not to go to the Maester and so I had no other choice, you have to help me Jeyne, please…I am begging you, you are the only one I can ask!”

“Sit down,” Jeyne urged her, placing her hands on her now and steering her towards a chair. The queen sat heavily in it, her head burying in her hands as Jeyne stood awkwardly above her, wondering if she ought to offer her some comfort. “Is it Robb?” she finally asked and the queen nodded her head, finally lifting it up from her hands. “Every night he wakes up screaming, I have to hold him down to stop him thrashing about and causing more hurt to himself,” the queen gabbled out. “I am at the end of my tether Jeyne, he will not allow me to get him any help but I cannot do it anymore. It breaks my heart seeing him like that and I…I’m scared about what it’s doing to me, and my baby.”

Her hand came to flutter around her stomach and Jeyne eyed her sympathetically. Once upon a time she had wished more than anything that she could be in the queen’s shoes. Now she was more pleased than ever that she did not have to occupy them; that she had had the strength and the will to say no. The woman before her had never been given the chance to say no though, she had said yes and bowed her head and done her duty. This was the price and Jeyne could see that it was killing her inside. Loving Robb may have brought her joy, but that love was now the cause of unbearable pain and Jeyne knew as she gazed down at her that she would do whatever was in her power to help her.

“What do you need?” she asked and the queen looked up, immense gratitude shining in her eyes. “Dream wine,” she said at once, “I need him to sleep, if only for a night. I just need him to sleep.” Jeyne nodded, moving to one of the cabinets and opening it up. “There is not much left, the Maester needs to brew more but he is so busy with the injured men he has not the time,” Jeyne reported as she pulled down a small bottle. “The King is not the only one who suffers at night,” she elaborated as she turned and offered the bottle to the queen. “No,” the queen agreed softly, “no, I don’t suppose he is.”

“He ought to take it just before he sleeps,” Jeyne instructed her, “if you mix a spoonful with some wine it will mask the taste. Perhaps a drop of milk of the poppy as well, then should he taste there is something amiss then he will assume it to be that.” The queen nodded her head slowly as she reached up and finally took hold of the bottle. “I hate doing this to him, deceiving him like this,” she said, “but I just don’t know what else I can do.”

“You are doing it with the best of intentions,” Jeyne soothed her, “if the King were to find out then I know he would understand. I am certain that he wouldn’t blame you. You’re right that you need rest, your child needs you to be as strong as possible.” The queen nodded again, determinedly this time as she rose up to her feet. “I knew I could trust you with this,” she said, meeting Jeyne’s eyes. “Thank you, I will not forget it.”

“I will try and procure another bottle for you,” Jeyne promised her and the queen seemed to hesitate a moment before she wrapped her hand around her forearm and squeezed gently. “Thank you,” she said again and Jeyne could only nod, the gesture and her words leaving her in a mute state. The queen smiled slightly before she released her arm and walked to the door, letting herself out just as quietly as she had let herself in. Jeyne let out her breath when she was gone, her steps a little shaky as she made her way back to the counter where she picked up her knife again. As she resumed chopping her mind became more and more clear. She would tell Damon later that he ought to remain with the Queensguard, that she no longer had any objections to them starting a new life in the North.

* * *

Robb blinked his eyes open slowly, a frown creasing his brow as he saw the faint light of morning creeping in through the gap in the drapes. Gods. He could not remember the last time that he had slept the whole night through, his eyes moving to linger on Roslin sleeping in the corner. How he would love to slip from his bed and move into hers, wrap himself around her so she could open her own eyes and find herself safe and secure in his arms. It was not to be. Not yet at least. Besides, as he gazed at her she began to stir, her lips parting and a little grumble leaving her before her eyes opened. Her dark pools blinked slowly at him a few times before she too looked towards the drapes and saw the light sneaking through them.

“You slept the whole night,” she commented groggily as she sat herself up and pushed her hair back from her face. “So did you,” he smiled slightly at her and her own lips curved upwards in response as she stretched her body awake. He had hated her being in with him every night, having to shake him awake and soothe him for so long after she had pulled him from the darkness. Each night the exhaustion grew worse and he had slowly begun to resent himself for being so stubborn. If he were any kind of husband he would have relented to her pleas and allowed her to go to the Maester and fetch him some dream wine. Instead he had remained stubborn and refused to swallow his pride, refused to admit that there had been anything wrong with him.

Now, having had a full night’s sleep for the first time in forever, he realised just how foolish he had been, and just how selfish he was for making Roslin endure his terror night after night. “Come here,” he said softly as she rose up from her bed and made to wrap her robe around her. She did as he had asked her once she tied it around her thickening waist, moving to perch on the edge of his bed. “Properly,” he said with a smile, stretching out his arm and inviting her to come and lay against his uninjured side. She obeyed him, shifting herself carefully until she was where he wanted her to be, her familiar body pressing up against his side. “I miss this so much,” he said quietly, stroking his hand through her hair gently, twisting his fingers around the ends and revelling in the softness. “Me too,” she replied just as quietly and he turned his head to press a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’m sorry I was so stubborn, I ought to have let you go to the Maester and let you get the dream wine,” he said after a long moment of quiet and she shifted next to him, lifting her head up to meet his eyes. “Promise you won’t be angry with me,” she whispered and he frowned slightly at her. “What cause would I have to be angry with you?” he asked her confusedly and she bit her lip. “I didn’t tell the Maester,” she said quickly, “but I did get you some dream wine, there was a spoonful in with your milk of the poppy last night.” Robb’s eyes widened at her confession but she wasn’t finished. “I was desperate, not just for you but for me. I need to look after myself better for the sake of the baby Robb, and I didn’t know what else I could do,” she was speaking at a rush, “so I went to Jeyne and I swore her to secrecy.”

“Jeyne?” he repeated stupidly, trying to imagine the inner turmoil that Roslin must have felt to lead her to Jeyne’s door. “I’m so sorry, but I had to,” she whispered desperately, “it has been killing me, seeing you like that night after night. I don’t even want to imagine what plagues you but I had to make it stop. You have to understand Robb, I had to make it stop!” she was near hysterical by the end and he pulled her back down against him, hushing her and pressing kisses to the top of her head as she cried against his shoulder. “I promised to be strong for you,” she choked out, “but it was chipping away at me every day…I had to tell someone, I had to get you help.”

“I know,” he agreed with her, running his hand soothingly through her hair. “I know Roslin, I’m sorry, I know I have put you through the seven hells and back again. I was stubborn and stupid and I should have listened to you. I ought to know by now that yours is the truest council I have.” She hiccoughed against his shoulder at his words and he could only imagine that her tears were beginning to subside. “I’m not angry with you,” he assured her, “I know how desperate you must have been to go to Jeyne, and I’m so sorry I gave you the cause to be in such a state.”

“I just want my husband back,” she said in a tiny voice and he felt as though his heart was wrenched in two at the simple words. “I’m right here,” he promised her, “I am right here and I promise I will not slip away again. I was in such darkness Roslin, but you’re right, everything you have said has been right. I am the lucky one, I escaped with my life and I will live to hold my baby in my arms where thousands of my men will never get that chance.”

“I know you will have dark days Robb,” she lifted her head up, her shining eyes meeting his. “I expect them,” she continued, “but you will heal far more quickly if you can sleep at night, and I can’t just think about you, I have to think about what’s best for our baby.” He reached a hand up to wipe the remaining tears from her cheeks, sorry beyond words for what he knew he had been putting her through. Deep inside he had known she was struggling, had seen through the smiles and the never wavering optimism. He despised the ease with which he had ignored it. What had he been thinking? Compromising the health of his wife and unborn child because he could not bear to admit that the consuming darkness was too much for him. If his darkest dreams had come to fruition then had no doubt whatsoever that it would all have been his own fault.

“I’ll be better,” he promised her, the only thing he could think to say. “I’ll be better Roslin, I swear to you, I won’t let this consume me. I won’t.” She smiled a watery smile at him then, her hand coming to cup around his cheek, her thumb rubbing at him soothingly. “I know how hard this is for you, being stuck here,” she said in response, “but it is for your own good and it will not be forever. You will get better Robb, I know you will, and one day all of this will be a distant memory. Your leg will heal and your scar will fade just like all the others.”

“I love you Roslin,” he responded fiercely, “and I am so sorry that I haven’t shown you that enough recently. It is a wonder you put up with me.” She laughed slightly at that and he was more overjoyed than he could comprehend on hearing it. “Well it is lucky for you that I know you’re worth it,” she smiled at him, “you can test me all you like but I will always be here at your side, you will not be rid of me Robb Stark because I love you more than I could ever hope to explain to you.”


	36. XXXVI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for the kudos!
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter!
> 
> :)

* * *

“Word from the Wall? Jon?” Robb asked almost desperately as Roslin entered the room with a letter clenched in her hand. “Not the Wall,” she replied and he scowled, “there is finally news about Sansa.” He snapped his eyes to hers at that, trying to read in them what was no doubt written on that parchment in her hand. Gods. He couldn’t lose another sibling. The grief over Bran and Rickon had been almost too much to bear, at least he now had the knowledge that news of their deaths had been false. “Is it from the Capitol?” he demanded. “Do they want gold for her? The Rock? What do they want?!”

“Hush and calm yourself,” Roslin scolded him, coming closer to the bed and laying her hand on his shoulder so he stilled. “Roslin -,” he started again but she placed her hand over his mouth. “If you would give me a moment then I could tell you,” she said pointedly and he nodded slightly. She moved her hand away then and perched herself on the edge of the bed. “It is from the Capitol,” she said, “but not from the Lannisters. The note wasn’t signed but it said that Sansa was safe, that she was smuggled away from the wedding feast in the furore surrounding Joffrey’s death. The Lannisters are hunting her but so far there has been no sign, whoever took her is obviously not looking to ransom her to them.”

“To us then?” Robb asked with a frown and she smiled slightly. “Who else?” she raised a brow and he let out a long, deep breath, the tension in him finally relieving somewhat. “There is no clue in the letter, none at all?” he asked after a moment, his mind working on overdrive. “As I said, it is unsigned,” she said calmly and he nodded in a rather distracted manner. “I know you’re worrying, but try and see that this could be a _good_ thing,” Roslin implored him, taking his hand. “She is out of the Capitol at least, and doubtless she will be brought to you. The entirety of the Seven Kingdoms knows by now that you have taken the Rock, Lord Karstark and the Greatjon have seen to that,” she continued, a smile twitching at her lips.

“What if this is a hoax?” he asked, tugging the letter from her grip and unfurling it. “I doubt that,” she said certainly, “the Lannisters would gain nothing from making us aware that Sansa was no longer in the Capitol. She was the one thing they had over us, why would they want us to think that they had lost her? They never told you that Arya had escaped did they?” Robb nodded again as he skimmed through the contents of the letter, calming again as he allowed Roslin’s words to sink in. She was right. Of course she was right. Likely he would have known it himself if he didn’t feel like his wits were deserting him in this damned room. “You’re right,” he voiced his belief then, somehow mustering up a smile for his wife. The darkness had been threatening him again over the last week or so. Ever since they had received word from the Wall that Jon had been injured. Gods he hoped his brother was alright. That the Gods were smiling on Jon as certainly as they had been smiling down on him recently.

“I’ll have the men atop the walls be extra vigilant,” Roslin smiled back at him, squeezing his hand slightly. “When she is brought here we can finally put some of that Lannister gold to good use,” she continued, her smile widening. He couldn’t help but snort at that, an amused chuckle leaving him at her words. “Is the Maester coming today?” she asked after a moment of playing with their entwined fingers. “This afternoon,” Robb confirmed to her, doing his best to sound cheerful. “Perhaps today will be it,” she said in a confident tone and he smiled slightly. “Perhaps,” he agreed with her. He wouldn’t get his hopes up though, not after the last two times the Maester had come. The man had been pleased with his progress but not yet happy enough with his stomach wound to remove the stitching. Robb ached for it to come out. He knew once it did that he would be able to start moving a little more, and perhaps given another week could try walking with sticks.

“Have you seen my mother about this?” Robb asked her before she could offer him any soothing words. While he appreciated her trying to be positive he didn’t think he could cope with it at this moment. “She was in council when it came,” Roslin replied, “she was upset at first but once it was all discussed and explained she felt more positive. I think she believes that the Kingslayer arranged it…I don’t know if I could believe that from such a man but I did not contradict her. I think she needs to believe it, it helps her.”

“If it helps,” Robb muttered, though he was less than impressed. He wanted the Kingslayer dead. He wanted the Lannisters finished. If the Kingslayer had indeed helped smuggle Sansa from the Capitol then he would feel indebted to him, which was utterly ridiculous considering what the bastard had done to Bran. “I think it does,” Roslin said pointedly and he huffed again. “I won’t say anything to dissuade her from it if that’s what you’re getting at,” he said moodily and her lips twitched up at the corners. “You are a grumpy king today,” she practically cooed at him, coming to place her hands on his cheeks. “Stop it,” he said, a smile threatening his own lips as she leaned in closer to him. “Something ought to be done about this,” she said thoughtfully before she leant in even closer and pressed her lips to his.

He kissed her back gladly, the taste and feel of her always just the thing he needed to cloud his troubled mind for just a few moments. One of her hands slipped back and stroked through his hair as they kissed slowly and deeply for a long minute. When she pulled back he was near breathless and he could see her quickening heartbeat in the rise and fall of her chest. Gods he missed her. All of her. His hand reached out to press against her rounded stomach as she looked down on him and a smile lit up her eyes. “Do you feel anything?” she asked him, her beautiful eyes fixed on his face. “Is it moving?” he asked her in return. “Slightly,” she replied, “it was stronger a moment ago.”

“Perhaps it is still too early,” he said, rubbing the swell of her stomach tenderly. “Likely you’re right,” she smiled, “but soon I think.” He grinned at that, her hand coming to lay across his to still it against her. “I can’t wait,” he told her honestly and she smiled back at him. “Neither can I. I so want you to feel it…feel our precious baby. It is so incredible Robb,” her voice was dripping with pride and excitement and that alone was enough to keep the smile on his face as he looked up into her eyes. “Thank you,” he murmured, “for everything…but especially these past weeks. Without you and our baby to keep my spirits high I don’t know what I would have done. I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate everything you’re doing for me. For _us._ ”

* * *

“It feels like forever since we’ve had a moment to ourselves,” Olyvar said quietly, his hand coming to rest on her waist. “I know,” she agreed, “but you know how it’s been.” He nodded his head, of course he knew how it had been. He had been present at every single council meeting since the King had been injured. Half his time was now spent with Roslin as she needed him to lean on right now, and that had meant neglecting the other woman in his life. “It’s been hard for everyone,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “but I’ve missed you so much.” She sighed and leaned further into him, her hands coming to clench around his forearms. He pressed his forehead to hers and exhaled deeply. She was so different when it was just the two of them, not the fierce, somewhat cold persona that she projected towards everyone else.

“Will you come tonight?” he asked her hopefully, and her lips curved up into a wicked smile. “Now that all depends on you, doesn’t it?” she asked him slyly, and he grinned down on her. “I will take that as a yes,” he said with a wink and she laughed lightly. “By the Gods I cannot wait, it has been too long since it was just the two of us,” he sighed, and she nodded her agreement. “I know, but we both have responsibilities, everything is just so complicated at the moment,” she said almost regretfully, and he pressed another kiss to her forehead. “It can be simple tonight,” he said and she smiled slightly, tilting her head up so she could meet his eyes. “I can’t quite remember how this happened,” she said and he frowned. “How what happened?” he questioned her. “How I came to depend on seeing you every day,” she replied and his smile could have cracked his face. “If only it didn’t have to be a secret,” he said.

“It won’t be forever Olyvar, let’s just get this war over with first,” she said and he nodded, albeit somewhat grudgingly. “Don’t frown…think of tonight,” she practically cooed at him, her fingers coming to whisper down his cheek. “I’d rather think of right now,” he breathed, leaning in closer to her and pressing his lips against hers. She kissed him back hungrily and he pressed her back against the council table, her tongue coming to twist with his as her hands clenched in his hair. He could scarce wait until tonight, but losing themselves now like this would be a huge risk. The thought of what could happen if they were caught…

“Olyvar!” he wrenched his lips from hers and turned, seeing Roslin stood in the now open doorway of the council chambers. Before he could even half open his mouth to blurt out some kind of explanation she had stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “Lady Dacey,” her brows were raised in surprise as she looked passed him to the woman he had been rather enjoying himself with mere seconds before. “Forgive me, my queen,” Dacey dropped her eyes and inclined her head. “You ought not to be so reckless where anyone could walk in,” Roslin raised a brow, but Olyvar could have sworn that her tone was more amused than anything else. “You are quite right, my queen…if you would excuse me, I ought to go,” Dacey said, meeting Roslin’s eyes. Roslin held her gaze for a long moment before she inclined her head, a thoughtful expression on her face when she moved her gaze to Olyvar.

Dacey’s hand found the back of his for a moment, her fingers running across the skin for a moment. He was reassured by the gesture, and hopeful that she would still seek him out later tonight. He hoped she would, he was aching for her. She moved away then, inclining her head again to Roslin before she made her way out of the chambers. Once the door was closed Olyvar moved his eyes from it to meet the gaze of his sister that he could feel burning into him. “Are you angry?” he asked her sheepishly and she smiled slightly. “Only slightly irritated that you didn’t tell me,” she replied, “how long have you been… _involved_ with Lady Dacey?”

“We got to know one another when we were preparing to invade the Rock. She saved me when that arrow hit me, I suppose it just…happened,” he shrugged his shoulders. “Is it serious?” Roslin asked, taking a few more steps towards him. “I like her very much, if that’s what you’re asking me,” he answered her honestly, and she nodded slowly. “She’s a good woman, and a noble one…I do hope you won’t do anything foolish,” Roslin said lightly, though he heard the underlying warning. Dacey was one of the King’s closest friends and part of his personal guard. Olyvar knew well enough that he would not be impressed if he found out the extent of their involvement. “I intend to make her my wife,” he said, the first time that he had admitted the words out loud. He had intended it for a while, but part of him was afraid to mention the idea to Dacey. It had crossed his mind that she may just think of him as a short-term lover, and not a man she would want to spend the rest of her days with.

She could do better that him, he knew that well enough, but he had made his mind up that he would at least try and win her hand. His eyes met Roslin’s again when he realised that she had made no reply, seeing the expression on her face that told him she was already forming a plan in her mind. He frowned slightly, wondering what exactly she was thinking. “What?” he finally asked when he could stand it no longer. “I think you and Lady Dacey may well be the solution to my problem,” she said slowly and his frown merely deepened. “You think us being together can end the war?” he asked her sarcastically and she rolled her eyes. “No, idiot,” she sighed heavily, “but I do think you might just be able to get Arya out of her betrothal to young Walder.”

“And how, pray tell, would we manage that?” he asked her, wondering what scheme she was dreaming up in her head this time. “I had intended to ask father to reconsider, to allow Arya a choice of husband as she allowed Robb a choice of wife,” Roslin explained, and Olyvar nodded his understanding. “What if I asked for you?” she raised one brow and he stared at her. “Me?” he said incredulously, and she smiled slightly. “Think about it, you’re betrothed to Arya, but it will be years before she is of an age to wed. Before that time came you could marry Dacey in secret and break the betrothal. The agreement would be null then, Robb would be well within his rights to refuse to betroth Arya to any of the others after you have insulted him in such a way. Father would have no choice but to back down and accept it,” Roslin was almost triumphant by the end and even Olyvar was grudgingly impressed by how quickly she had thought up the idea.

“There is one flaw in your, admittedly brilliant, plan,” Olyvar said, and she cocked her head to one side as she contemplated him. “And what might that be?” she asked with raised brows. “Dacey would have to agree to marry me,” he told her, to which she smiled widely. “You doubt your own charm brother?” she asked him wryly, and he rolled his eyes at her. “I’m sure you can persuade her,” Roslin said certainly, “besides, you have years yet to wear her down.”

* * *

Catelyn was in with Robb when the Maester arrived with Jeyne. She was slightly worried about where Roslin had got to, knowing that she would want to be here with Robb whether his stitches were allowed to come out or not. She had said she wouldn’t be long when she had stepped out earlier, saying she had left something behind in the council chambers that she wanted Robb to cast his eye over later. She really ought to have been back by now, the council chambers were only in the next hallway. Gods, Catelyn hoped that no ill news had come, it was the last thing any of them needed, especially today of all days. She was pleased to see Jeyne looking well and happy though, she had yet to see her to congratulate her on her marriage, but she was worried about doing so in Robb’s presence. She hadn’t had the courage to raise the subject with him, nor with Roslin, so she had no idea how he had taken the news.

“It’s good to see you Jeyne,” Catelyn said, thinking that the greeting was sufficiently neutral. “And you, Lady Stark,” Jeyne smiled widely and Catelyn met her eyes with a smile of her own, hoping that the younger woman would catch her silent message. “You can congratulate her you know,” Robb said in an amused tone, to which Catelyn narrowed her eyes slightly at him. He merely grinned in response and a smile twitched her own lips, amused despite herself. Gods she was glad that he had not taken it badly. “Congratulations Jeyne, I am truly very pleased for you,” Catelyn obliged Robb, and her own feelings on the matter. “Thank you my lady, and thank you your Grace, we received the gifts from yourself and the queen. It was a lovely gesture,” Jeyne said, looking between the pair of them.

“It was Roslin’s doing, thank her if she ever makes an appearance,” Robb said in a slightly amused tone and Jeyne smiled slightly. “May I ask what it was?” Catelyn asked, curious despite herself, and even more intrigued that it had been Roslin’s idea to send a gift. “A pair of silver goblets,” Jeyne answered her, “with our initials and the sigil of house Paege engraved on it. They are so finely made, we really are both very grateful. Though, I believe Damon thanked the queen this morning when he escorted her to council.”

“Shall we get started your Grace?” the Maester spoke up before Catelyn had the opportunity to speak any more with Jeyne. “Of course,” Robb agreed, but she frowned slightly, looking between him and the Maester. “Do you not want to wait for Roslin?” she asked her son quietly and he shook his head slightly. “Certainly, we can wait for the queen if you would prefer?” the Maester inclined his head, but again Robb shook his. “No, go ahead, you have other men who need your attention and I would not keep you from them for any longer than necessary,” Robb said.

“Very well your Grace, if I may?” the Maester gestured to his stomach and Robb nodded his head, his eyes moving to fix their gaze on the ceiling. Catelyn knew he was wary of getting his hopes up, not wanting to be disappointed again by the Maester telling him that the stitches were not yet ready to be removed. She could tell that he was holding his breath and she hesitated a moment before she moved to take his hand. He made no move to pull his away, and when the Maester removed the thin layer of bandaging he squeezed her hand almost painfully tightly. Gods. Where was Roslin? She knew damn well that Robb would be happier with her here. She could not fathom why her good-daughter would be absent, and wondering what could have kept her away only served to make her fear heighten.

“I think the wound is healed sufficiently for me to be able to remove the stitching your Grace,” the Maester said, and Catelyn let out the breath that she hadn’t known that she had been holding. “Thank you,” Robb said, his voice laced with relief. “It may be uncomfortable, but I will be as gentle as I can,” the Maester assured him, and Catelyn squeezed his hand lightly. “It cannot be any more painful than the blade was,” Robb said, his tone almost jovial. “That’s the spirit, your Grace,” the Maester said in an amused tone. “Would you pass me the scissors Jeyne, and the tweezers,” he continued, holding out his hand for them. Jeyne obliged at once before she brought one of the lamps closer, holding it steadily above the Maester as he began his work. Catelyn focused on Robb’s face rather than his stomach, hoping that it was just her imagination that was hearing the sounds of raised voices and running footsteps outside the window.

* * *

Roslin had been late getting back to Robb as it was when she left the council chamber. She had intended on hurrying right back to him but she had been stopped in her tracks by a breathless guard. As irritated as she was she could not ignore the panic in his voice and his insistence that she was needed outside. Consequently she was now being led up the steps to the ramparts, Ser Damon following on a mere step behind her as they made their way up. The Greatjon and Lord Flint were already present when she emerged onto the parapet, the wind catching her hair and blowing it about her face. Impatiently she pushed it back from her eyes and approached the two lords, seeing grimaces on their faces as they stared out into the sea. “What is it?” she asked them, the Greatjon turning at her words. “Ships, my queen,” he replied.

“In the sea? Who would have thought?” she said wryly, seeing a smile twitch at the older man’s lips. “We think the sigil might be that of Stannis Baratheon, my queen,” one of the guards told her nervously, and she raised her brows, moving forwards to stand at the Greatjon’s side. She placed her hands on the thick, stone walls and squinted out to sea where there were at least ten ships approaching the Rock’s harbour. The sigil did indeed look suspiciously like that of Stannis, and her eyes narrowed of their own accord, her fingernails scraping against the stone as her fists clenched of their own accord. “What do you suppose he wants?” she asked, turning her head to the lords. “Hard to know,” the Greatjon sniffed, “but he’s come all this way for something.”

Roslin nodded her agreement, her heart clenching and her stomach in knots. This was not part of the plan. She had hoped to write to Dorne and the Vale first, get them onside before she send word to the Tyrells. Only with all three of them behind them had she intended to contact Stannis Baratheon. This was not good. Not good at all. Especially if he had brought his red witch with him. Roslin would not have her within a league of the Rock, not if the rumours about her being the end of Renly were even remotely true. Robb was vulnerable enough without the likes of her being near him. “We cannot ignore him,” she said grudgingly, “but we have all the advantage here, and he will agree to our terms if he wishes to enter the Rock and treat with us.”

“Very good my queen, what would you have us do?” the Greatjon asked her, and she thought hard for a long minute. No one spoke while she concocted her plan, her eyes fixed continuously on the ships that appeared to have come to halt a short distance from the harbour walls. The chains were raised, none of them could pass through unless Roslin gave the order for them to be lowered, and she would. If her demands were met. “I want word sent to Lord Karstark at Lannisport. Have him take three ships to meet Stannis’ fleet and deliver our terms,” Roslin finally spoke when she came to her conclusion. "And what are our terms my queen?” Lord Flint asked her.

“One ship bearing Stannis and a retinue of his men can pass through into the harbour,” she said, “his other ships can dock at Lannisport. Under no circumstances is he to bring his sorceress with him. He will not be permitted to enter the Rock if she is in his party, and should anything suspicious or untoward happen that cannot be explained while he is here then he will be taken as our prisoner until such time as she is dealt with. I will not tolerate her magic nor her poisonous thoughts of ending worship of the seven and the Old Gods. She is not welcome here, and nor is her Red God. If he agrees with these terms then we will arrange chambers for him and his men and will treat with him peacefully. Whether we come to an agreement or not he will be allowed to leave here in peace and without harm. But if any harm comes to us then he will be destroyed along with what is left of his army. Do you have anything you wish to add my lords?”

“No my queen, I think your terms will more than suffice,” the Greatjon said, and Lord Flint murmured his agreement. “Very good,” she said, “then I would ask you, Lord Flint, to send word to Lannisport. And Lord Umber, I would like you to gather council and inform them of these new developments while I speak with the King. Have your squires see that the kitchens are informed that a feast will need to be prepared, it may well be that we will have company to entertain tonight.”


	37. XXXVII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos. Hope you enjoy the new chapter and the introduction of Stannis the Mannis.
> 
> :)

* * *

“I think you might be needed,” Robb said, hearing the shouts and clanking of the gates being drawn up. “It can wait, I have important things to attend to,” Roslin replied and he raised his brows. “Like trimming your husband’s beard?” he asked her in an amused tone as she gently tilted his head to the side to begin snipping at the other side of his beard. “A king must look his best,” she smiled slightly and he made no further argument, straining his ears to try and decipher any of what was happening outside. “Someone will be along once he is settled,” Roslin told him, “besides, it will do him good to be kept waiting a while, let the enormity of what you have achieved sink in a little better.”

“I just want to know what he wants,” Robb said, moving his head slightly. “Keep still,” Roslin scolded him lightly, holding his chin firm in her free hand as she continued her work. “You would be better off just shaving me,” he said with a sigh. It was tedious for him to stay still while she worked, the Gods only knew how she had the patience for it. “I have never seen you clean shaven,” she said, pulling back slightly and appraising her handiwork. “Are you worried you may not desire me as much without a beard to hide half my face?” he asked her with a raised brow and she smirked slightly. “I’m sure you are most handsome either way,” she said, her eyes glinting mischievously, “but I like the way this feels against my skin,” she rubbed her thumbs against his cheeks and he closed his eyes and let out a long sigh of satisfaction.

“Best you stop it wife, I may be recovering but I do not think I have the strength for you,” he said, opening his eyes and seeing her still gazing at him. “Would a kiss kill you?” she asked, cocking her head to one side. He grinned in response and shook his head, to which she leaned in slowly and pressed her lips to his. His hands slipped around her to run up her back, clenching his fists in her soft hair before he released them and allowed his fingers to run through the soft tresses. Their tender kiss was broken in the next moment though by a knock on the door. Roslin sighed in exasperation when she pulled away, turning her head and calling for their visitor to come in. Robb tried to stay relaxed as Ser Damon entered, keeping his fingers twisting around a lock of Roslin’s hair.

“What is it?” Roslin asked her guard as he closed the door behind him. “Lord Umber has sent word that Stannis has been shown to chambers in the furthest wing from your Graces,” Ser Damon bowed his head and Roslin nodded slowly. “He said he will show the,” Ser Damon cleared his throat slightly and Robb raised his brows, “the uhm, grumpy bastard,” he went on and Robb snorted in amusement, “to the parlour in the next hallway to await your pleasure, my queen.”

“Very good,” Roslin nodded vaguely, “I would like you with me, Ser Damon, if you would?” Her guard nodded at that and Robb saw her smile at him. “I hate to keep you from your wife when you are newly married,” she went on, and it was Ser Damon’s turn to smile. “She understands my duties well enough my queen, and she has plenty of her own aiding the Maester,” he said, and Roslin nodded her head, thanking him warmly. “I will wait outside for you my queen,” Ser Damon went on after a pointed look from Robb. “I shan’t be long,” Roslin said, and he bowed his head to both of them before he made his way from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

“What do you want me to do?” Roslin asked Robb, her eyes seeking his as soon as they were left alone again. “I want to know what he wants, whether it be an alliance or for me to bend the knee,” Robb said and she nodded slowly, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Likely he will not be happy about having to negotiate with me,” she said with a raised brow and he scowled. He would love to treat with Stannis himself, to size the man up and make it clear exactly what he would be up against should he choose a fight. Stannis wouldn’t be intimidated by him the way he was now though, so he had precious little choice but to leave it to Roslin and the Greatjon. “How honest should I be with him? Should I mention our plan to split the Kingdoms?” Roslin asked him with wide eyes and he bit his lip.

“Let him lay out his cards first, then we know exactly what we are playing with,” he advised her and she nodded her head in agreement. He could tell she was nervous just from the look in her eyes and the way her hands came to her rounded stomach, smoothing over it in an agitated manner. “You have managed everything perfectly since I have been laid up here,” he told her firmly, his hand coming to lay on one of hers. “Don’t doubt yourself now,” he urged her, and she smiled weakly at him. “I have never had to negotiate with anyone from outside before,” she said, “I have only had dealings with the lords who are already so firmly on your side.”

“ _Our_ side,” he corrected her, his hand clenching more tightly around hers. “You have already set out clear terms for Stannis even being here,” he went on, “if he doesn’t realise what kind of woman he is dealing with then more fool him. You can handle anything Roslin, you put up with me, don’t you?” he smiled at her and her lips twitched up slightly in return. “I will do my best,” she finally said, squeezing his hand for a moment before she made to move up from the bed. “And no doubt it will be extraordinary as always,” he said, tugging her closer for a farewell kiss. “I love you,” she whispered against his lips when she pulled back. “I love you too,” he breathed back, kissing her once more before releasing her. She made for the door at once but he called her back before she could leave. “Your crown,” he nodded to where it was resting, “I would have him see he is dealing with a true queen.”

* * *

Roslin’s stomach fluttered unbearably as she walked determinedly down the hallway with Ser Damon in her wake. She lay her hand against it, taking some encouragement from the insistent movement from the baby within her, rubbing the spot for a moment before taking a deep breath and rounding the corner. Down the next hallway they went, towards the parlour that was situated right at the end. Half way down her footsteps faltered and she stopped, tuning to face Ser Damon. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she confessed to him and he raised his brows. “Have you ever?” he asked her in return and she couldn’t help but laugh. “You seem most spontaneous to me, my queen, perhaps it is best that you don’t think too hard about it?” he suggested, and she nodded her head in agreement. “Thank you,” she said gratefully. He said nothing in return, merely moved his hands to straighten the crown that was balanced atop her head.

“Will I do now?” she asked in amusement and he grinned at her. “The perfect queen, as ever,” he responded, and she smiled widely at him. “I knew there was a reason I kept you around,” she said wryly and he chuckled as she turned back around and resumed her journey to the parlour. She kept her steps measured and determined as she approached, seeing the Greatjon already waiting outside with half a dozen guards. “My queen,” he greeted her quietly, bowing shortly. “How long have I kept him waiting?” she asked him in return and he smiled wickedly. “Long enough that we have heard him pacing the boards,” he answered, and a smile graced her own features. “Good,” she said simply, “how many does he have in there?”

“Just himself, and his _Hand_ ,” the Greatjon said witheringly and she nodded her head slightly. “Good,” she said again, “then I will have you and Ser Damon with me. Two for two.” The Greatjon inclined his head and she gestured for him to go ahead of her, taking one last deep breath as he pushed open the door. “Presenting Queen Roslin,” the Greatjon introduced her in a rather smug manner as she stepped through the door, Ser Damon half a step behind her. “I was expecting Robb Stark,” a cold voice greeted, and her eyes flickered to the owner, assuming he was Stannis. She could practically feel the Greatjon bristle at her side but she was pleased that he held his tongue. Roslin allowed her eyes to slowly appraise the man in front of her, seeing him do the same to her. His eyes seemed to linger on her stomach for a moment before he raised them up to her face. She stared back at him defiantly, refusing to blink first. He did. Eventually. After his companion cleared his throat slightly.

“I was expecting to speak with your husband,” he said, his voice still cold, but not quite as accusing. “Did Lord Umber not inform you that his Grace is indisposed?” Roslin asked him, one of her brows raised. She could tell from the look on Stannis’ face that he had been informed, but she waited patiently for him to confirm it. “He must be, to send his pregnant wife,” he said dismissively and she narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you want?” she asked almost exasperatedly, bored of this conversation already. She couldn’t read much from Stannis but she knew well enough that she would not be able to charm him, nor intimidate him. Perhaps being blunt would get her there faster. “I’m travelling to the Wall, I thought I would come here on my way and warn you,” he answered.

“Warn us of what?” she asked, frowning slightly, her eyes flickering to the older man who was with him. “Winter,” Stannis said simply and she folder her arms, raising her brows. “You have come to warn Starks and Northmen of winter?” she questioned incredulously, an almost laugh escaping her. She could have sworn that a hint of a smile twitched on the lips of Stannis’ Hand at her words. “The Wall is in danger, I am taking my men there to ensure it doesn’t fall. To ensure that the Kingdoms are not engulfed by wildlings. Since your husband claims to be a King, I thought he might be interested in what I am preventing from invading his lands,” Stannis said.

“So you concede they are his lands?” Roslin raised a brow and the man bristled. She tried very hard not to smirk as the Greatjon snorted at her side. It was very childish of her, but she couldn’t help but find herself enjoying winding Stannis up. She had thought Robb serious when she first came to know him, but she realised now that he had been practically jovial when compared to Stannis. She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes, gesturing to one of the seats around the fireplace. “This is all rather foolish don’t you think?” she raised a brow. “Take a seat, you have journeyed far. Ser Damon would you pour some wine for our guests, and for Lord Umber if he is thirsty,” she continued, moving to take a seat of her own when Stannis showed no sign of movement. “They are rather comfortable,” she persuaded, “Tywin Lannister is many things but he certainly knows how to furnish his home.”

She saw Stannis exchange a look with his Hand, the older man raising his brows slightly and inclining his head a fraction to the seat opposite Roslin. After a long moment he sighed in defeat and came to sit facing her. Even sat he looked stiff, and Roslin vaguely wondered if the man had ever relaxed in his entire life. “Would you introduce me?” she inclined her head towards his companion, who took a few steps forwards at her words. “My Hand,” Stannis gestured to him, “Ser Davos Seaworth.” Roslin smiled at Davos, thinking that he had a rather kindly look in his eye beneath his stern and weather-beaten features. “Would you sit, Ser?” she gestured to the chair next to Stannis’ and he took it, inclining his head to her as he did so. “I believe you have met Lord Umber,” she gestured for the Greatjon to come and sit at her side as Stannis nodded curtly. “And, this is Ser Damon Paege, head of my Queensguard,” she gestured to Ser Damon as he set three glasses of wine on the table between them.

“Can I bring you anything, my queen?” Ser Damon asked her when Stannis showed no sign of acknowledging him. “No thank you,” Roslin replied, and he inclined his head to her before retreating around the back of her chair and standing in her peripheral vision with his hand on the hilt of his sword. “So, the Wall?” Roslin raised her brows and looked towards Stannis. “How is it that you know it is in danger when we are in regular correspondence with the Lord Commander and have heard nothing of the sort?” she stared at him pointedly, but he did not show one flicker of unease. Either he was a very good liar or he was indeed telling the truth. But how could he know and they did not? They had received a letter from the Wall not two days previously, with the Lord Commander promising their eyes would be on the lookout for Bran, and that they would keep him safe with the agreement that they would be well compensated for their trouble. He had mentioned nothing of the Wall being under threat, nor wildlings coming.

“It has been seen,” Stannis said vaguely and she narrowed her eyes. “By your priestess?” she asked coldly, seeing Davos shift uneasily in his seat. “The Lady Melisandre has seen many things in the flames, and all have proved true,” Stannis told her, his eyes not leaving hers. “And you came to us with this, why?” Roslin asked, thinking she already knew the answer. “We can be of assistance to one another, my own forces are weakened as you well know. With aid from the Northern armies we will be assured of a victory against the wildlings,” Stannis said.

“An alliance?” Roslin raised her brows in surprise, her eyes flickering to the Greatjon whose expression was unreadable. “I’m not a fool,” Stannis met her eyes, “I know if it came to open warfare then you would easily defeat us. But you and your husband cannot deny that I am the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.”

“Why?” Roslin asked him and he blinked at her. “Why?” he repeated, a frown creasing his brow. “Why are you the rightful heir?” she elaborated and he stared at her as though she were mad. “I am Robert Baratheon’s brother, his only living heir. He died without children, Cersei Lannister’s bastards were born of incest with her own twin!” his temper was flaring now but she didn’t show any flicker of surprise nor upset. “And that makes you heir because your brother took the throne from the Targaryens?” Roslin inquired lightly and his nostrils flared. “Obviously,” he said through clearly gritted teeth. “The throne that was forged by Aegon Targaryen when he forced the Seven Kingdoms to kneel before the dragons?” she continued on and he nodded curtly. “What is your point?” he snapped.

“My point is, there are no longer dragons. So why should the kingdoms be united and ruled as one?” she asked him, hearing the Greatjon take in a sharp intake of breath at her side. This hadn’t been exactly how she had planned on doing this but it was too late now. Stannis seemed at a loss for words and so Roslin continued to plough on. “The North has already broken free, the Riverlands too. The Lannisters are in disarray and the Tyrells are fickle enough to abandon them for a price. Dorne has no love for the Kingdoms, I imagine they would jump at the chance of independence. What say you, Stannis Baratheon? Seven Kings for Seven Kingdoms? You said yourself that you could not defeat us in open war, and do you really think the realm will tolerate your new religious ideology? If you took the Iron Throne there would be rebellion and you would be dead before the snows fell.”

“Are you threatening me?” Stannis asked her, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t need to threaten you,” Roslin replied, “you know what I am saying is true. You know why I asked you to leave your priestess behind, why they whisper up and down the lands that you used witchcraft to murder your brother. You may think you have a right to the Iron Throne, but you know damn well you could never hope to keep it. Be content with the Stormlands and a crown atop your head. Ally with us and we can defeat the Lannisters. We can all win.”

“You really think that you can split the Kingdoms? That doing so would achieve peace? There would be an uprising every other week, one King getting too greedy and wanting to extend his borders. It will never work, the Kingdoms must be united under one King,” Stannis said, shaking his head at her. “The North is split,” she snapped at him, “and it will remain so. One Kingdom has already broken away, so what is to stop others from following? We do this now and we take away the need for war. We negotiate terms and a treaty of peace. One King rebels the other six put him down. Any violation of the treaty is treason, dealt with at the central council at King’s Landing. Any rebel is put down, his house exiled and stripped of all lands and titles. Tell me, who would risk that fate? You? We certainly would not.”

Stannis stared at her for a long moment, and she longed to know what was going through his head. “You are as mad as Aerys,” he finally said, though he did not say it with venom. His tone was the softest she had heard it so far. “Tell me you are not thinking about it,” Roslin challenged, arching one of her brows and leaning forward slightly in her seat. “It could be folly, the number of people who would have to agree, the number of things that would have to be agreed upon…” he tailed off, leaning back in his own seat and shaking his head at her incredulously. “But you are thinking about it,” she said softly, and he finally nodded his head. “Do not feel too triumphant,” he warned her, “I am only thinking about it, and I will have questions for your husband.”

“You want our aid with the Wall, you can have it,” Roslin said, “I shall see to it that five thousand men will join your fleet.” She could feel the Greatjon frowning but she refused to look at him. “In exchange you must agree to a peace, to attend a meeting of all the Lord Paramount’s of Westeros,” Roslin continued, and she saw Stannis sigh heavily. “You think Tywin Lannister will attend your meeting?” he asked her mockingly and she smiled sweetly at him. “I shouldn’t think so, I imagine he will be too preoccupied preparing for a coming assault on the Capitol,” she said lightly, and Stannis’ lips finally twitched up into a half smile. “Do we have a deal?” she asked him, meeting his eyes. He exchanged a glance with Davos and Roslin saw the older man nod slightly. “Five thousand?” Stannis inquired of her, shifting forward in his seat slightly. “Five thousand,” she confirmed, and he stood up. She followed suit and he held out his hand to her. She took his, feeling it enclose around hers for a moment. “Deal,” he agreed.

* * *

When Jeyne arrived back in her chambers they were empty. She was not entirely surprised, with the arrival of Stannis she imagined that Damon would be spending even more time at the queen’s side. Not that she was grudging of it, it meant that she herself had more time to spend with the Maester. The injured men were making good progress now, and needed less and less of their time during the day. That meant that the Maester had more free time to better train her in the art of healing. They had been going through herbs and flowers that were used to make medicines, and she had practically glowed with praise when he had declared her skilled indeed at identifying them. Tomorrow she was tasked with heading out into the Rock’s gardens and gathering what was needed to make dream wine. If she managed that then they would move on to stitching. She was good with her needlework, but the thought of stitching someone’s skin together made her stomach churn uneasily. Still, she would have to get over that if she wanted to be a proper healer with a clinic of her own one day.

She wandered to the side table and poured a measure of wine into one of the goblets that the queen had gifted her and Damon. It was such a thoughtful thing to do, and while Jeyne was sure that the gift had been made with Damon in mind rather than her, it still touched her that anything had been given at all. She had just filled her cup when the door opened to reveal her husband and she sent him a swift smile, seeing him grin at her in return. “You have impeccable timing,” she said, “did you hear me pouring the wine all the way from the queen’s side?”

He chuckled at that, and she moved to fill the other goblet to the brim before picking the pair of them up and moving towards where he had settled in one of the armchairs. “Good day?” she inquired when he took his drink with thanks. He nodded, taking a long drink from his wine as she settled down in the chair opposite him. “She got Stannis. _Stannis,_ ” he repeated incredulously, “to agree to a temporary peace and come to her planned meet of all the Lord Paramount’s. _Stannis!_ ”

“You seem impressed,” Jeyne said in an amused tone, seeing him shake his head with an almost look of wonder in his eyes. “If she were a man, she would be unstoppable,” he continued shaking his head, “by the Gods…the King will be nigh unstoppable if he continues to allow her to conduct his affairs.” Jeyne laughed at that, shaking her head at him before she took a sip from her own cup. “What have you done with your day?” Damon asked her when she lowered it again. “Learning more from the Maester,” she reported to him, “if I manage dream wine tomorrow then he said we can move on to stitching.”

“Well your stitching is perfection, just look at those cushions,” Damon gestured to the pair she had stitched for them in preparation for their future home. “I think it is a slightly different skill to stitch up a person,” Jeyne rolled her eyes, “I confess I felt rather nauseous watching the Maester remove Robb’s the other day.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Damon smiled, “you cannot let a little fear stop you achieving your dream. You are so close Jeyne, and with this new development we could be one step closer to going north.” She nodded her agreement, touched by his words and hopeful that they would indeed soon have the opportunity to move north and settle in a permanent home. “Why did Stannis come in the first place?” she asked with a slight frown, realising he hadn’t told her. “According to his witch the Wall is under threat, the queen pledged five thousand in exchange for his cooperation. The Greatjon didn’t seem happy about it but I can’t see what else she could have done. The Wall protects us all, and if it really is in danger then it is the duty of all the Kingdoms to aid the Watch.”

“I imagine the Greatjon is unhappy because Robb will likely not choose him to lead the five thousand, he needs him too much here,” Jeyne said and Damon chuckled, nodding his agreement. “Likely you’re right, the man does seem hungry for another fight,” he said, and she smiled slightly. “At least I can assume that you won’t be going,” she said, and he leaned forwards in his chair and reached for her hand. “My place is with the queen, she is certainly not going to the Wall, though…I wouldn’t put it passed her,” he said, and Jeyne laughed, shaking her head.

“So long as I am in her service I will not have to leave your side,” Damon continued, his eyes meeting hers and holding them fast. “And I am forever thankful for that,” she said, “I cannot imagine going through what the queen did with Robb. I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt.” Damon hushed her, leaning further forward in his chair and pressing his lips to hers for a long moment. “Nothing is going to happen to me,” he promised her, “and if it did…I’d know I had the most skilled healer looking after me.” She couldn’t help but smile at that and he kissed the corner of her mouth tenderly. “Now drink up wife,” he said teasingly, “I require your attention beneath the sheets.”


	38. XXXVIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who left comments and kudos, it is very much appreciated.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy the new chapter, and look out for a new POV at the end ;)
> 
> :)

* * *

Catelyn felt uneasy as she watched the men preparing to leave, horse being saddled and food rations being hauled onto carts to be transported down to the docks. They would sail from Lannisport in the morning, the Cerwyns and the Mormonts having being given command of the five thousand strong garrison. Catelyn wasn’t sure how to feel about this arrangement with Stannis. She didn’t trust the man one bit, not after what had happened with Renly. If he could betray his own brother then she had no doubt that he could betray Robb, and she wasn’t sure that her son could survive such a thing happening again. His trust had already been severely shaken by Bolton, and if Stannis were to turn on him then she imagined that the plans for the kingdoms would sour. He would not have it in him to put his trust in six other Kings, she knew that well enough.

Roslin, she knew, had been doing her best to reassure him over the arrangement with Stannis. Though, since Olyvar had announced his desire to go with the men to the Wall she had been in a tremendous rage. Perversely Catelyn thought that her being so upset had helped Robb somewhat. He was so used to her looking after him and reassuring him. Now it was his turn to do the same, and she knew that although he hated his wife being in such a state, he was glad to be of use again. “Lady Stark?” Jeyne’s inquiring voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned to smile at the woman. “Jeyne,” she greeted warmly, “what brings you out here?”

“Supplies for the men,” she replied, “the King has asked that the Maester go with them, so I will soon be left in charge of the men still recovering here.” She sounded nervous at the prospect, but Catelyn smiled widely at the news. “You will do brilliantly, I am certain of it,” she told her honestly, seeing her beam in response. “Thank you, Lady Stark,” Jeyne said happily, her eyes shining with gratitude. Catelyn merely placed her hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly for a moment. “If I was your mother, I would be proud of everything you have done, everything that you have overcome and achieved. You have done so well, and don’t ever let anyone make you feel any differently,” Catelyn told her firmly, seeing her lips press tightly together at her words. “Thank you,” her voice was barely a whisper, coming out rather shakily. “It’s nothing,” Catelyn said warmly, as Ser Damon called over to Jeyne. “I will let you get on,” she continued, releasing her hold on her shoulder. “Thank you,” Jeyne said again, her eyes shining with sincerity.

Catelyn merely inclined her head, watching as the young woman turned and walked towards her husband. She had rarely had any dealings with Ser Damon, he had just become a presence she was used to seeing whenever she spent any time with Roslin. Whenever they had spoken he had been polite and courteous, though from the raucous laughter that she had heard from him and Roslin on occasion, she imagined that there was another side entirely to him. Still, her lips twitched up as she saw him embrace Jeyne, seeing him press an affectionate kiss to her forehead, he seemed to be doing well as a husband and she was beyond pleased that Jeyne had managed to move on. It had been a surprise to get the news, but a welcome one, even more welcome now that she had seen her happiness with her own eyes. She deserved a happy life with someone she loved just as much as Robb did, even more so since her family had abandoned her.

She watched the young couple link arms and slowly drift back towards the keep, her smile only faltering when she glanced towards the gatehouse and saw a rather familiar figure flanked by guards being brought towards her.

* * *

“Roslin, you are driving me to distraction, come and sit with me and we can talk about this,” Robb’s tone was almost pleading as he watched his wife pace the length of the room for what felt like the thousandth time. “There is nothing to talk about,” she snapped, coming to a halt at the end of the bed and glaring down on him. “You gave him leave to go, without even speaking with me about it!” her voice was rising now and Robb ran his hand through his hair in a desperate manner, trying to think up some soothing words in his head. “Olyvar is a skilled fighter, and he asked me to go. I told you I would never deny him if he explicitly asked something of me. He wants to earn his knighthood Roslin, and I will not stand in the way of that, good-brother or not,” he said patiently. She folded her arms in response, and huffed in a rather undignified manner.

“Please don’t be angry with me,” he said in his most persuasive tone, her stony expression not softening in the slightest. “Everything I have done has been so finely balanced,” she said quietly, “I have managed to persuade my father to agree to the match between Olyvar and Arya, I have set everything in motion for your sister to be released from this deal which _you_ agreed to -,” she cut off, shaking her head, her fists clenching and unclenching for a moment. “I am doing _everything_ I can to make sure that our entire family gets safely back to Winterfell and yet one word from you has put everything in jeopardy! Never mind Arya’s future and how miserable she will be if she has to marry young Walder – _I_ could lose my brother!”

“Roslin -,” Robb tried to interject, but it appeared that she was not going to stop any time soon. “I cannot lose him Robb, do you understand that?! I. Can’t. Lose. Him!” She punctuated each of her last words by slapping her hand against the bed frame, her voice shaking and her eyes shining. “I almost lost you,” her voice was agonised now and he was hating himself, “please don’t put me through that again. Put me through _worse,_ not when you can prevent it. Robb…please…” Gods he just wanted to say yes, to agree to anything she wanted so that she would stop looking at him the way she was now. So he could erase the pain from her voice and have her nestled in his arms again, her sweet voice relaying her gratitude in her ear. “I can’t,” he said instead, and a murderous expression crossed her face. “But,” he held up a hand before she could start again, “but, you can do whatever you wish to get him to stay if it pleases you.”

He wondered if she would go so far as to order Olyvar to stay. In all her time as queen she had never pulled rank over her brother, but he imagined that if she were ever to do so that now would be the time. Gods. He did not envy his good-brother one bit in this situation. Part of him imagined that Olyvar would back down when faced with Roslin’s wrath. She had screamed and shouted at him the night before but he had just stood there and taken it, calmly folding her into his arms when she succumbed to tears. Robb had thought he would relent then but his good-brother had held firm, telling her quietly but determinedly that he was going to the Wall, with or without her blessing. What Robb couldn’t work out though, was why he was so determined. He had already made the decision that he would knight his good-brother when the war was over, and he had told him so. Olyvar was still adamant that he was going to the Wall though, and even Roslin’s upset hadn’t swayed him to change his mind.

“I would have thought he would relish the chance to stay here, it will give him more time to woo this secret love of his,” Robb spoke up to break the tension and Roslin glared at him. He sighed heavily. “Come on Roslin, please, I hate us being like this,” he almost whined at her and finally her features softened slightly. “Come here,” he reached his arm out for her. For a moment he was almost certain that she wouldn’t come, but then she moved slowly towards him, seating herself on the edge of the bed. “Properly?” he raised a brow and grinned at her and she huffed, though he could see her hiding a smile as she shifted herself so that he could wrap his arm around her and nestle her in the crook of her shoulder. “I am sorry,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her temple and feeling her body relax against him as he did so. “I know,” she said in a defeated tone and he grinned, nuzzling against her cheek for a moment before lavishing it with kisses.

“So who is she then? This woman that you are so sure Olyvar will marry?” Robb questioned her as she snuggled further against him. “Does the word _secret_ mean nothing to you Robb Stark?” she returned in an exasperated manner and he smiled even more widely. “Secret from whom? Not you, surely…” he raised his brows, pulling back and looking down on her, seeing her worrying at her bottom lip. “Olyvar asked me to keep it to myself, don’t push me on it, please,” she said firmly, and he sighed, knowing damn well that he wouldn’t get it out of her. “Very well,” he agreed, and her hand sought out his in response, squeezing slightly before she guided it to her stomach. He splayed it out across her growing roundness and waited, hoping that this time he might actually be able to feel the baby move beneath her skin.

“Is it moving?” he asked her after several minutes of quiet. “Only very slightly,” she reported to him and he sighed in disappointment. Before he could respond to her though he jumped a little, blinking stupidly as he tried to decide whether or not he had just imagined the pressure felt against his palm. Roslin turned her head to the side so she could look up and meet his eyes, a wide smile stretched across her face. “Did you feel that?” she asked him, and he could only nod mutely, his words having seemed to have abandoned him. “That is the most lively it has ever been,” she elaborated, and his own smile was so wide that it was almost painful. “So incredible,” he managed to murmur, and she stretched herself closer to him in response, her lips finding his. He kept his hand on her stomach as they kissed softly, still feeling the light pressure against his palm every moment or so, still unable to quite believe that it was real.

* * *

A pounding at the door pulled them out of their little bubble of bliss, the pure joy of the moment interrupted as Roslin irritably pulled away from Robb. He had a rather disgruntled look on his own face as she sat herself straight at his side, calling moodily for their visitor to come in. As soon as Roslin caught sight of her good-mother’s face her irritation was swiftly replaced by fear. “What has happened?” Robb demanded at once, his own voice betraying his own fear. “You remember Brienne of Tarth?” his mother stepped further into the room, beckoning a large, well-built woman to follow her. Robb nodded tersely, and Roslin could feel the tension surrounding them. She herself had never met Brienne of Tarth, but she knew well enough that she had been the one to help Catelyn free the Kingslayer.

“Why is she here?” Robb asked bluntly, and Roslin decided against chastising him for his rudeness. “She has news of Sansa,” Catelyn replied, her voice shaking. At once Roslin wanted to cross to her and offer her some clearly needed comfort, but before she could Robb’s hand sought out hers and squeezed tightly. “What of Sansa?” he asked fearfully, Roslin noting his eyes dancing nervously between his mother and Brienne. “It’s true that she is gone from the Capitol,” Catelyn said, “though where she is…I cannot understand why they would…”

Catelyn trailed off, her voice breaking. Robb released Roslin’s hand, and she knew that her husband wanted her to comfort his mother more than he needed her to comfort him in that moment. Roslin moved forwards, gathering her good-mother into her arms and hushing her gently. “Tell me,” Robb said coldly, and Roslin knew without seeing him that he had directed his words towards Brienne. “There was a plan set in place with Ser Jaime for me to remove Lady Sansa from the Capitol,” Brienne spoke calmly, though Roslin could hear the underlying apprehension. “Only,” Brienne seemed to hesitate, “after Joffrey was killed, our plans were in tatters. She was smuggled away from the wedding before the queen could have her arrested…but it was not by myself or Ser Jaime.”

“Who then?” Robb demanded, his cold tones laced with a trace of panic now. “At first Ser Jaime suspected Littlefinger,” Brienne told him, and Catelyn pulled away from Roslin at her words. “Petyr?” Catelyn looked confused, “You didn’t mention him before.” Her tone was almost accusing and Brienne met her eyes before she spoke again. “Forgive me, my lady, but when I arrive I just wanted to relay the true news to you,” Brienne said, and Roslin could not doubt the sincerity in her eyes. It seemed Catelyn couldn’t either, as she inclined her head to encourage her to continue. “In the end, Ser Jaime discovered it was Varys, but by then it was too late to stop it,” Brienne went on.

“Stop what?” Robb asked, frowning deeply now. “She was smuggled aboard a ship with Lord Tyrion, we know not where, only that is was bound for Essos,” Brienne said and Roslin could see the dismay in her good-mother’s eyes mirrored in Robb’s. “Essos?” he repeated stupidly, and Brienne nodded. “We do not know why, or whether she went willingly or not…I’m sorry, your Grace, I wish I had better news for you,” Brienne bowed her head meekly, and Roslin fixed her eyes on her husband. His head was in his hands and she could see the tension in his body as he was clearly thinking hard. “Lord Tyrion is Sansa’s husband,” Roslin began tentatively, “could it be at all possible that she would want to go with him willingly? That she cares for him?”

“How could she?!” Robb snapped, his head rising up and his eyes blazing with fury. The look on his face was almost enough to make Roslin cringe away from him, but thankfully she was saved from his furious stare by Brienne. “Lord Tyrion always treated Lady Sansa well from what I witnessed in my time at the Capitol,” she said, “he was humiliated at Joffrey’s wedding, and she seemed most concerned for him. I cannot speak for what was between them in private, but I never saw him display any cruelty to her in public, and Ser Jaime was always adamant that his brother would treat her with nothing but kindness.”

Robb began muttering darkly under his breath at that, but at least he was no longer glaring daggers towards Roslin. For that she was grateful, and she sent Brienne a tentative smile which the older woman returned rather uncertainly. “If Lord Tyrion has sailed across the Narrow Sea then likely he is entering exile,” Catelyn said dully, “and if that is true, and if Sansa is with him, then I do not see how we will ever bring her home.”

“We bring her home by destroying what is left of the Lannisters and offering Casterly Rock and the crown of the Westerlands to the Imp in exchange for her being released from her marriage to him and being allowed to return to the North,” Robb said venomously, and Roslin nodded her head in agreement with him. “He’s right Catelyn,” she placed her hands on her good-mother’s shoulders, forcing her to look her in the eye. “He’s right,” Roslin said again, “it will take time, and a good deal of luck but we _can_ do this. You cannot give up hope.”

* * *

Olyvar was breathless as Dacey slipped from his lap and collapsed down at his side, her chest heaving and glistening with sweat. Gods he loved her like this, a naked, trembling mess in his bed. Outside these walls she was fierce and strong and unyielding. In here she was bare, and unguarded, and all too willing to yield to him. He allowed his palm to settle between her breasts before he slid it slowly down the valley of them, trailing around to her hip so he could pull her against his own exhausted body. “I can’t stay,” she said, though she made no move to pull away from him. “Just tonight Dacey, please,” if he sounded begging he didn’t care. They would be gone away to Lannisport come morning, and boarding ships. Olyvar didn’t hold much hope of being on the same vessel as her, likely he would be shoved aboard with Frey men, where she would be leading a crew of Northmen.

“Don’t,” she said quietly, but he decided to persist, shifting onto his side so he could meet her eyes. “You know how much I want you,” he said, “and not just as my lover.” Her eyes widened slightly at that, but other than that she hid her surprise well, a hint of a frown coming to crease across her brow. “You want to make an honest woman of me?” she raised one of her brows and he swallowed hard. “Damn right I do,” he replied, and her lips twitched up into a small smile. “I will never leave the North,” she told him, as though she imagined it might put him off. “I would never ask you to,” he returned at once, and she looked at him strangely for a long moment. “You would come and live on Bear Island with me?” she asked, and he wondered whether he was imagining the hopeful look in her eye. “If you insist upon it,” he answered, “though I confess, I had hoped we could compromise on Winterfell.”

“Perhaps for a time,” Dacey conceded, her hand coming to his chest to whisper her fingers along the muscles. “I am my mother’s heir,” she continued after a long moment, “I would not give up that claim Olyvar, I could never stay at Winterfell forever, I would be lying to you if I promised you otherwise.” Olyvar shook his head, a smile threatening his lips. “You think I would ask you to give up your claim?” he asked, “I would never do such a thing, when the time comes I will be glad to come to Bear Island with you.”

“It would mean leaving your sister, I don’t think she would like that very much,” Dacey said teasingly and he scowled. “Roslin has the King, and she will soon have a child, and no doubt countless other children. It is not as though I would never see her again. She knows how I feel about you, and it is in her own interests that I succeed in making you my wife.” Dacey really did frown at that, and he bit his lip, realising that he had spoken without thinking. Gods. What would she think of him when he told her? Would she think that he only wished to marry her as a favour to his sister? “What do you mean by that?” she asked, slowly and suspiciously.

“Don’t be angry,” he said at once, and her frown deepened even more. “Tell me, Olyvar,” he tone was quiet but menacing, and he swallowed hard. “When Roslin caught us, I…I told her of my feelings for you, told her that I planned on asking for your hand,” he began, and she nodded, her eyes still suspicious. “She is never one to miss an opportunity…she…well, she thought that she could perhaps persuade our father to have me betrothed to the Lady Arya instead of young Walder...”

“What?!” Dacey’s eyes were wide and disbelieving, and he tightened his hold on her hip so she couldn’t move away from him. “She is just using my feelings for you to her advantage, don’t you see?” he asked her desperately. “I would never marry Arya, she is a child. But the King was unhappy at having promised her in the first place, and this could be a way out of it. Don’t you see? I am betrothed to her but I will break the betrothal when I wed you. The King will be furious for the sake of my father, and he would be within his rights to refuse any other match between Lady Arya and house Frey…” He trailed off as Dacey showed no sign of blinking, nor of saying anything. He was wary of her silence, knowing well enough that often a quiet woman was an angry woman.

“The queen never does miss a trick, does she?” she finally said, a brow raised and a hint of a smile on her face. Olyvar grinned in sheer relief, pressing himself closer to her and burying his head in the crook of her neck so he could inhale her sweet scent. “My feelings for you are real,” he murmured against her, feeling her hands running up and down his back. “I know,” she breathed back, “as mine are for you.”

“Would you consider me Dacey?” he whispered, holding his breath for her answer as one of her hands came up to rest in his hair. “Of course,” she returned, and his heart pounded wildly at the words. “But,” she continued, pressing a kiss to his temple, “I think we ought to make sure the Wall will stand for the next thousand years before we do anything rash.”

* * *

The sound of the rolling bottle roused her from her slumber, and she carefully opened one eye, not daring to shift a fraction beneath her furs. In the next moment she breathed a sigh of relief, recognising the all too familiar sight of her husband in the depths of his wine cup. She dreaded to think how many bottles he had got through since she had closed her eyes. It had seemed to her that he had not paused in drinking since they had boarded the ship. The only time he stopped was when he passed out or when he drank so much he made himself sick. He blamed it on the swaying of the ship, but she knew well enough that it was the copious amounts of wine he poured down his neck. She wished he would stop. She had no idea where they were going or why they were going there. Part of her wasn’t even sure if Tyrion did, but surely he had to have more of a clue than she did?

All she remembered was being roused from her sleep in one of Lord Varys’ hidden chambers and being smuggled through winding secret passageways. There had been apologies when she was bundled into the crate, promises that she would not be in there for long. The captain of the ship had opened it out when they were safely out of the harbour. She had asked him where they were going, but he had given no reply, unable to speak the common tongue. From that she feared that they were crossing the Narrow Sea, but for the life of her she could not think why. She had asked Tyrion why they were not being taken to Casterly Rock. To Robb. To her mother. She doubted whether he had even understood her, given the way his eyes were unfocused and bloodshot. Gods she wished she had some coin. If she had coin then she would easily be able to give Tyrion the slip when they reached their destination, then she could find a ship destined for the Rock. Or Lannisport. White Harbour even. Anywhere that was loyal to the North.

She sighed heavily as Tyrion dropped his wine cup and jerked awake, his eyes looking at her accusingly, as though she had been the one to wake him. Immediately she saw him look around, no doubt hoping to lay eyes on more wine. She had had just about enough of this. “No more,” she said, with as much conviction as she could muster. “You do not command me, wife,” he slurred, getting unsteadily to his feet and stumbling towards one of the crates he had broken into. “I said, no more!” she jumped to her own feet and hurriedly placed herself between him and the wine. Tyrion looked up at her then, an odd look in his eyes and she stared down on him, determined that she wouldn’t falter and reveal herself as the weak little girl she was inside. “You cannot keep doing this,” she said when he made no comment. “I don’t know where we’re going, or why we are going there. I can’t help us, and neither can you if you are constantly drunk!”

“You know what I did Sansa?” he slurred at her, and she refused to look away from his eyes. “You killed your father,” she replied in what she hoped was an unaffected manner. “I also killed my lover,” he pointed at her with a shaking finger, “and I had far more affection for her than I do for you, now get out of my way!”

“No!” she shot back stubbornly, and he glared at her. “Very well,” he spoke again, clinging to the side of another crate to steady himself. “You want to know where we are going, I will tell you, if you will reach into that crate and pull me out another bottle of Dorne’s finest red,” he went on smugly, and she narrowed her eyes at him. She really did not want him to drink anymore, but at the same time she was desperate to know where they were going. Perhaps if she knew that, then she would be able to come up with a plan to get herself back home again. “Fine,” she said bitterly, turning and reaching into the crate to pull out yet another bottle of wine. “Tell me,” she demanded, holding the bottle just out of his reach. “Pentos,” he replied at once, and she frowned at him. “Why?” she asked.

“Two questions my dear, that will require another bottle,” he wagged his finger at her in a disapproving manner and she shoved the first bottle into his hands. “You can drink the lot for all I care,” she said scathingly, “just tell me why we’re going there.” He didn’t answer at first, struggling to un-stopper the bottle that she had just handed him. “As to that, my dear Sansa,” he finally spoke when he pulled the cork free, taking a long swig from the bottle before turning to her again. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

 


	39. XXXIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks very much for the kudos, and to Kittycombs for the comment. Hope you all enjoy the new chapter, and, more importantly, MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
> 
> :)
> 
> P.S. My usual browser isn't working, and pasting into Explorer I noticed that I can't rule a line across the text for some reason. So, I'll be using '* * *' to denote a change of POV rather than the usual line. I'll probably go back and edit it when my browser is up and running again!
> 
> :)

“Damn it!” Robb would have collapsed down into the chair if the Smalljon had not been there to hold him up and lower him gently to sit. “You’re pushing yourself too hard your Grace,” the Smalljon said seriously, “if the queen -,” the man cut off as Robb sent him a warning look. “The queen is not to know about this, she has enough concerns,” Robb told him firmly, “besides, the Maester said it would do no harm for me to try.” The Smalljon huffed at that and Robb braced himself for his usual scolding. “I doubt the Maester would have meant you to push yourself this hard,” he sighed, “I heard what he said too, your Grace, and he said it would take time for you to build your strength back up after you have been abed for so long.”

“I know that,” Robb said irritably, hating the fact that his friend was right. He had been trying so hard for the last week to master how to walk with sticks, but so far he was failing miserably. His arms and one remaining good leg were refusing to do what his mind told them to do. His injured leg was just dead weight, keeping it lifted off the ground was exhausting, and so far he had only managed to cross from one side of his chamber to the other once. It didn’t help that he could only practice when Roslin was away from him. His guards were in on it, they knew to knock three times against his door when they saw her coming. That usually gave him enough time to get back into bed with the Smalljon’s help, the sticks shoved underneath the bed.

If Roslin were suspicious as to why the Smalljon was always there on her return she never voiced it. She had only asked him once, and he had told her that they were discussing ideas for the rebuilding of Winterfell. That had got her smiling, and she had been happy to hear that he had found something positive and productive to do with his time. She had been so thrilled that the guilt was enough for him to actually begin discussing the rebuilding with the Smalljon whilst simultaneously trying to learn how to walk with the damn sticks. It was gruelling and exhausting, but at least it helped him sleep at night, as did the fact that Roslin was now able to sleep at his side again. She had been wary at first, but the Maester had assured her that his stomach was sufficiently healed. He sighed heavily and looked up at the Smalljon, seeing him frowning down on him.

“Again,” Robb demanded, and his friend huffed irritably but passed the sticks to him anyway. Robb clenched his hands around them and arranged them so that he could push himself up. He wavered slightly and the Smalljon moved a little closer. Robb adjusted his balance though, gritting his teeth before he moved one of the sticks forward. He hopped a little step, moving the other stick and doing the same. After a minute he gained some kind of rhythm, but the effort of doing it was exhausting. He could feel the sweat beginning to form on his brow and his arms were shaking with the effort of pushing himself forward. “You need to try and put more weight on your good leg,” the Smalljon encouraged him, “then there will be less pressure on your arms and you will not tire as quickly.”

Robb grunted his agreement, and shifted his balance slightly. The next steps were a little easier, but he still felt on the verge of collapse by the time he reached the other side of the room. “I think that’s enough for today,” the Smalljon said pointedly. Robb glared at him, but made no word of protest as the Smalljon aided him back towards the bed. It seemed to be good timing on his part, three knocks sounding on the door as he arranged himself against the pillows. The Smalljon shoved the sticks under the bed as usual before he swung the chair around and sat himself down at Robb’s bedside. “So, did you decide on a new watchtower on the perimeter of Winter town?” the Smalljon asked, just as the door was pushed open to reveal Roslin.

“Are you two plotting again?” she asked in an amused tone as she crossed to the other side of the bed and perched herself on the edge of it. “We were thinking of a new watchtower on the edge of Winter town,” the Smalljon informed her, and Robb was glad that he had spoken up because he imagined that his voice would sound more than a little breathless. “Aye,” Robb agreed with him, hoping that that would suffice for now. “I suppose we cannot be too careful,” Roslin said with a smile, though it faded slightly from her lips when she turned her full attention to Robb. “Are you alright?” she asked him concernedly, turning further towards him and leaning in closer. “Of course,” he said quickly, forcing a smile and trying not to let his inner panic show on his face. Roslin didn’t seem placated, a slight frown creasing her brow as she moved her hand to rest against his forehead for a moment. “You’re clammy,” she said fearfully, “are you sure you feel alright? Not too hot or too cold?”

“Roslin, I’m fine, I promise you,” he tried to soothe her, but the look of fear in her eyes did not disappear. “I don’t know Robb,” she bit down on her lip, “we cannot be too careful with your recovery…and the Maester has already gone. Perhaps I ought to fetch Jeyne…” she trailed off, already moving away from him. “No, Roslin, really…I’m perfectly fine, you do not have to bother Jeyne, she has enough on her hands now that the Maester has left for the Wall,” Robb protested, but his wife was still heading for the door. “This is your health Robb,” she said firmly, “I am taking no chances, and neither should you.” With that she was out the door again and Robb sighed heavily before glancing sideways at the Smalljon. His friend smirked slightly. “There may be nothing wrong with your health now,” he said wryly, “but when the queen finds out the truth you may well wish you hadn’t sent the Maester away.”

 

* * *

 

“Do you feel how clammy he is?” Jeyne could hear the underlying panic in the queen’s voice as she pressed her palm to Robb’s forehead. “He is a little warm,” Jeyne agreed with a slight frown, seeing Robb’s eyes widen insistently at her. Her frown only deepened as his eyes flickered between her and where Roslin was hovering worriedly at his bedside. “Have you had much to drink today, your Grace?” Jeyne asked him, moving her head from side to side ever so slightly. “No,” Robb said, obviously understanding her signal. “No, I haven’t, now I come to think on it,” he continued, and she sighed heavily. “You really ought to be having plenty of water, do you not remember what the Maester told you about fluids?” she questioned him, raising one of her brows. “I will get him some now,” the queen said at once, darting towards the side table.

“What are you up to?” Jeyne asked Robb so quietly that she didn’t think it could even be described as a whisper. “Sticks,” he murmured just as quietly, jerking his head towards where the Smalljon was sat at his side. Jeyne narrowed her eyes and glared between the pair of them. She didn’t need to ask any more, it was obvious that Robb had been trying to walk with sticks with the aid of the Smalljon. It was also painfully clear that the queen didn’t know anything about it. She fixed Robb with a withering look and he almost cringed back against the pillows. “You really ought to be more careful, your Grace,” she told him as the queen returned and passed him a cup of water. “I know,” he said sheepishly, “I’m sorry for wasting your time, my lady.”

“You are sure that that is all there is?” the queen asked her with wide eyes. “I’m sure,” Jeyne said reassuringly, “if there were a fever upon him he would be far hotter, and he wouldn’t be able to speak so coherently.” She could see the relief in the queen’s eyes at that, and the tender way she leaned forwards to clasp her hands around Robb’s free one. Robb himself seemed to be drinking his cup of water incredibly studiously. When Jeyne was certain that the queen’s attention was firmly away from her she narrowed her eyes at Robb once again before she straightened up from the bed and moved away. “I will leave you now,” she said, “do not hesitate to call for me again should you have need.”

“Thank you,” the queen said gratefully, a small smile on her lips. “You’re welcome,” Jeyne returned her smile before she made her way from the room. Damon was hovering outside, he had been there when she had gone in as well, guarding the queen as ever he did during the daylight hours. He raised his brows, concern evident in his eyes. Jeyne merely shook her head and rolled her eyes in response, to which Damon took hold of her hand and pulled her a little way down the hallway. “Is the King alright?” he asked her and she sighed exasperatedly. “The King is perfectly fine,” she said, “though he will not be for much longer when the queen finds out what he’s up to.”

“Why? What is he up to?” Damon asked her with a frown, his eyes flickering to Robb’s guards. “Oh, I imagine they’re in on it,” Jeyne rolled her eyes, “otherwise I imagine she would have caught him out long ago.”

“What -,” Damon began again, but Jeyne cut across him to answer his previous question. “He has been trying to master walking with sticks, with the aid of the Smalljon. The Gods only know why he has not told the queen, but it is none of my business,” she told him, “and don’t you dare tell her either,” she added warningly, to which he rolled his eyes. “I won’t,” he promised, “though you’re right that the King’s health will take a turn for the worse when she does find out.”

“He ought to tell her, it isn’t as though he is doing anything against the Maester’s advice,” Jeyne said irritably, and Damon moved his hand to twist his fingers round a lock of her hair. “Perhaps it isn’t going as well as he’d hoped?” he suggested. “Doubtless he does not want the queen to worry any more about him than she already does.” Jeyne nodded grudgingly in agreement, it seemed like the kind of ridiculously protective thing that Robb would do. “Probably,” she muttered, “I’d best get back anyway, there will be men waiting on another dose of milk of the poppy.”

“They can wait a moment,” he said, pulling her against him. She didn’t protest, letting his strong arms envelop her, his lips pressing against her temple for a long moment. “It’s the King’s business,” he murmured, “if he is foolish enough to keep secrets from his wife then he will just have to accept the inevitable consequences.” Jeyne hummed her agreement at that, allowing her hold on Damon to tighten for a moment before they both broke apart. “I really do have to go,” she said regretfully, and he smiled, leaning in to peck her lips. “I will be back before dinner tonight, I promise,” he said, and she smiled widely in response. “I look forward to it,” she said, seeing him return her smile before she turned and made her way back down the hallway.

 

* * *

 

Sansa blinked rapidly as she emerged into the dazzling sunlight, her vision temporarily deserting her as she desperately tried to see. She willed her eyes to adjust to the light, trying not to allow her even more weakened self to be afraid. Wherever she was she needed to pretend to be fearless, she had to make sure that people knew exactly who they were dealing with. They didn’t need to know that on the inside she was terrified and without the slightest idea of what to do. The answer would come to her. She had to believe that. She had to believe that the answer to her getting back home would come to her. If she didn’t believe that then she may as well give up now. “Ah, I see you have both come to me safe and unharmed,” finally, a voice that spoke the common tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut one more time before opening them again, squinting at the man who came into vision before her.

“Who are you?” she asked, the only question that would come to mind. She didn’t think to be polite and curtsey, and the incredibly vast man raised a brow at her before a wide smile stretched across his face. “Allow me to introduce myself, I am Illyrio Mopatis and this is my manse,” he gestured around him. Sansa spared it all a vague glance, she was sure it was very grand given the way Illyrio was dressed, but she had more pressing things to concern herself with than how comfortable her surroundings were. She did not recognise his name, though she searched and searched for it in her mind. Perhaps she was forgetting something, or perhaps he really was someone she had never heard of. “I imagine you are in need of some comforts my dear Lady Sansa, this is no way for someone of your importance to have been kept these last weeks. But alas, it was a necessary misfortune,” Illyrio continued to smile and Sansa swallowed.

“How do you know my name?” she asked him shakily, glancing down at Tyrion at her side and seeing him swaying slightly, apparently uninterested in their new host and surroundings. “Varys told me everything,” Illyrio waved a hand dismissively, “but now, there will be time enough for talk once you have bathed and dressed in clean clothing. I shall have dinner set on the veranda for an hour.” He clapped his hands together and a young serving girl appeared as though from nowhere. “Aid Lady Sansa,” Illyrio told her, “and see that she is present for dinner, you have an hour.” The girl curtseyed before looking towards Sansa. She hesitated slightly, again glancing at Tyrion but seeing no sign of guidance from him. Not seeing any other option she inclined her head slightly to Illyrio before making to follow the serving girl, praying to all the Gods she knew of that her steps would not shake.

She followed the serving girl towards the manse, her eyes now taking in the grandness of it and the differing style to that of Westeros. The sun was beating down hot against the back of her neck and she swallowed hard, her heart aching for Winterfell. She determined not to let it show, now following the serving girl inside and down a series of wide hallways. Inside was lavishly decorated but she was unable to take any of it in properly. She felt as though she were in some kind of daze, just automatically following the girl leading her until she came to a stop and opened up a door. The girl bowed her head meekly once inside, and Sansa entered, looking around her. There was a sunken tub set into the floor with steps leading down into it. It was already filled, she could see the spirals of steam emitting from it. Uncertain and frightened as she was, she could not deny that the water looked ever so enticing.

Deciding that she might be able to think more clearly after soothing her muscles and dressing in clean clothing, she moved her hand to the lacings of her dress and began to pull on them. Her fingers fumbled slightly and the serving girl was before her at once. “Can I help, my lady?” she asked, her foreign tone soft and pleasant to Sansa’s ears. She nodded her response and the girls fingers came to nimbly take up her cause. When the dress was loose the girl stepped away again and Sansa shrugged it away from her, slipping her shift from her shoulders and stepping into the water. It was a perfect level of warmth, and she moved down the steps of the bath until the water came up around her waist. Slowly she sank down onto one of the steps so it came up to almost her neck. She imagined she would be happy to stay in the water all day, but she was wary of Illyrio and the dinner he was expecting her to attend.

Sansa’s stomach snarled as she imagined proper food, and so she dunked her head under the water, massaging her fingers through her hair before she emerged again. Her eyes sought a washcloth and found one on the side, an array of soaps and oils also laid out for her to choose from. She picked one at random and began to cleanse her skin, already feeling far more like herself than she had on the journey. Finally she was satisfied, setting the washcloth and soap aside again before she turned to rise out of the bath. The serving girl was there in an instant with a robe for her to wrap around herself. “Your hair, my lady?” she asked, and again Sansa nodded. “Thank you,” Sansa said quietly, finally finding her voice. The girl looked surprised but she said nothing, merely gesturing her to the vanity.

It seemed to take forever, but eventually the girl seemed to towel most of the moisture from Sansa’s hair, her fingers working quickly and easily to work the tresses back and up into a beautifully braided style. Sansa was glad that it was all wound up, hoping that if there was any hint of a breeze that it would feel cool on her neck. Next came the clean clothes, a beautiful dress in a powder blue colour that was so sumptuous that Sansa felt unworthy of wearing it. She didn’t speak up to protest though, and allowed the girl to help her into it, feeling exposed as it showed far more skin than anything else she had ever been clad in before. There was nothing else to be done about it though, she could not dress in what she had been brought here in. It would be impolite for a start. She determined not to think on it, instead she turned expectantly to the serving girl. “Would you show me to the veranda?” she asked, relieved that her voice didn’t shake.

The girl did as Sansa asked, and this time as they walked the hallways Sansa tried to memorize the route. Just in case. It didn’t take long to reach the double glass doors that led out onto the veranda. Illyrio was already seated at the table, as was Tyrion, and Sansa tried not to be too irked that he had a glass of wine in his hand. Somehow he still looked dishevelled, even though he was clad in clean clothes which were ill fitting to say the least. “You are a vision, my lady,” Illyrio complimented her, snapping his fingers towards a serving man. He came forwards at once to pull out a chair, and Sansa assumed from that that she was expected to sit. “Or, should I call you princess?” Illyrio continued as she settled herself down. “Your brother claims the title of King, does he not?”

“He does,” Sansa agreed, forcing herself to meet Illyrio’s eyes, “though, I am far from the North. I wonder if you would tell me why?” Illyrio chuckled at that, and she determined to keep a pleasant little smile on her face. “You must forgive the secrecy, and the manner of your shipping,” he said, “plans had to change at short notice, the game did not quite settle the way Varys imagined it would. You were never intended to become a guest of mine, but things change, and plans must change with them.” Sansa glanced towards Tyrion at that, seeing him clearly uninterested in their conversation and far more occupied with drinking from his glass. She decided to ignore him and focus on Illyrio, at least he seemed able to function coherently. “What changed?” she frowned slightly. “What is so different that I had to be brought here?”

“Please eat, my lady,” Illyrio urged her, and she grit her teeth before gracefully accepting a serving of fish onto her plate. All she wanted was answers, was that really too much to ask? “I imagine you would have preferred a ship to Casterly Rock?” Illyrio asked as she tucked into her food. She nodded her agreement, feeling his eyes on her as she swallowed down a mouthful. “That would not have been a benefit to us, you are far too important to risk losing,” Illyrio continued and she frowned again, looking up to meet his eyes. “How can I be important?” she questioned him incredulously, and he shook his head, a smile playing about his lips. “All will become clear,” he said, and she clenched her fists tight around her cutlery. “I would not overwhelm you all with it now,” he continued, “we have guests arriving within the week, then my dear, everything will be explained to you.”

Sansa wanted to argue, but she didn’t have the will. Also, the delicious smells coming from the array of foods spread out across the table was making it difficult to think of anything but her hunger. “Please, do eat whatever takes your fancy, there is plenty more to be had,” Illyrio urged her, and she moved to serve a little of everything within reach onto her plate. “Everything here within these walls is at your disposal for the duration of your stay here,” he smiled at her, “you will want for nothing, I assure you of that. You only need ask, and it is yours.”

 

* * *

 

Catelyn watched from the other side of the yard as Arya again clashed swords with Brienne. Each clash of steel on steel made her wince, her hands involuntarily clenching into fists each time Arya staggered back slightly or unbalanced a little. It didn’t feel right, but she couldn’t look away, watching the way her daughter moved and seeing some kind of grace in it despite her unease. Arya had never been happy with dancing or needlework, Catelyn supposed she ought to have known that one day she would be powerless to stop her working in the tiltyard. She had been furious with her uncle after her arrival at Riverrun, but then Arya had told her that Ned had allowed her lessons at the Capitol. Catelyn had narrowed her eyes at that, but Arya had gone on to explain about her sword, and how she would never have escaped had she not been allowed to keep it. That had softened her. How could it not?

She still didn’t like seeing her slight little girl clashing swords with a woman near twice her height and several times her bulk. Brienne would be holding back her full strength though, Catelyn knew that well enough. She doubted she would scrimp on skill though, so doubtless Arya would learn much from her. _I just pray she never, ever needs it._ Catelyn shuddered slightly, trying to convince herself it was because of the chilly breeze that was fluttering around the courtyard. She wrapped her shawl more closely around her and tried not to think about Sansa. About where she was and why she was there. Essos. So vague. Essos was vast, numerous settlements lined the coast. They could be going anywhere. Robb was desperate to offer up a reward, but he was afraid of drawing unwanted attention. The best they could hope it that one of the scouts he had sent off discovered something.

It would be many weeks, if not months, before any of them had even a chance of stumbling upon any information though. Sansa was long gone, perhaps already landed in yet another strange new place with no one she could trust or rely on. Gods, Catelyn hoped that Tyrion Lannister had at least one ounce of caring in his heart for her daughter. She swallowed hard and tried to convince herself that it was possible after the disturbing news that had filtered down from the Capitol. No one here mourned Tywin Lannister, on the contrary, Robb had allowed his men a night of revelry, from which she could see from some of the guards she had passed were still recovering. She herself felt no grievance at his death. What did aggrieve her was the thought of her daughter being under the protection of a man who was capable of kinslaying.

Cersei Lannister was offering a hefty reward for the capture of her brother. Tyrion was hardly a man who could easily blend into society and lose himself. He was a man that people couldn’t help but look twice at, even stare openly at. Catelyn closed her eyes, focusing on the rhythmic sound of steel on steel. It did no good to focus on the worst, she had to believe, as Robb and Roslin were frequently reminding her, that everything would turn out right in the end. They seemed to have an optimism that Catelyn couldn’t quite match no matter how hard she tried. She hated it. Her stomach clenched and her heart aching for her missing children. Bran and Sansa. No word of either of them. No word at all from the Wall, not since the letter that promised to look out for him. She could only hope that the Night’s Watch would make good on their promise. Just as she could only hope that Tyrion Lannister would protect Sansa. It was all well and truly out of her hands, and it was driving her further and further towards despair with every passing day.


	40. XL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who left kudos!
> 
> Hope you all had a brilliant Christmas, and a very happy new year to you all!
> 
> :)

* * *

Roslin visibly faltered as she walked into her chambers, seeing Robb absent from the bed. Her heart hammered against her chest as she half stumbled further into the room. “I’m here,” his voice sounded, and she snapped her head around to see him sat in a chair by the window. She took a steadying breath, unsure whether she should scold him or not. “Robb…Gods,” she placed her hand to her heart, “how did you…?” she started, trailing off when she saw the two sticks propped up against the windowsill. She narrowed her eyes, seeing his sheepish expression as he shifted slightly in his chair. “Please tell me you didn’t,” she said weakly, closing her eyes in despair. “The Smalljon was here,” Robb explained quickly, “I didn’t move by myself, or rather…I did, but, he was here. In case something went wrong.”

“You got there by yourself?” Roslin asked him incredulously. “At the first time of asking?” she continued, seeing him avert his eyes from her slightly. “Of course,” she sighed exasperatedly, “all these new plans for Winterfell you were concocting together were just an excuse, weren’t they?” she raised a brow expectantly, and he nodded his head like a naughty child who had been caught stealing cakes. “Oh, when I get my hands on that Umber,” she snarled, clenching her fists tightly. “Don’t be angry with him Roslin, I persuaded him,” Robb told her, and she glared at him. “Oh I know very well whose idea this was, don’t think I don’t,” she said irritably. “But he ought to have known better than to let you coerce him into this.”

“Well he couldn’t very well refuse me, I am his king,” Robb tried a teasing tone but she refused to smile, sending him a withering look. “That’s not the point,” she said stonily, and he sighed, turning his most pleading eyes on her. “Please don’t be angry, I didn’t do anything against the Maester’s advice, and I’m getting really good now,” he told her, and she narrowed her eyes. “I’m not angry with you because you’ve been learning to walk with sticks,” she snapped, “I’m angry with you because you didn’t think to tell me about it!”

“Roslin, you have enough to worry about, and you could not have helped me with this. You are not strong enough to support my weight properly, and if I had stumbled then I could have harmed you or the baby. I couldn’t risk that,” he said, and she softened slightly, though she was still more than a little irritated with him. “I could still have been here, to encourage you, you didn’t have to lie to me Robb. I hate it when you lie to me, we are supposed to share everything with one another,” she said, her tone calmer now as he hung his head in unmistakable shame. “I’ve hated you seeing me struggle. You’ve been there through so much already, and for once I wanted to show you something strong. That’s why I didn’t want you to know until I knew I could manage it properly,” he told her quietly, and tears stung her eyes.

“Robb…” she started, shaking her head, unable to find any words to continue. “Stay there,” he said, twisting his torso so he could reach for the sticks. She had to force herself not to rush to him and help him, instead keeping her feet firmly planted in place. “I have wanted to do this for so long,” he said, positioning the sticks in front of him before pushing up and shakily moving into a standing position. Her eyes widened. She had almost forgotten how tall he was, how his mere presence commanded the attention of any room he entered. “Stay,” he told her again, and she nodded slightly. Slowly he began to move towards her, using the sticks to aid him as he kept his weight from his strapped up leg.

She wanted to meet him halfway but she refused to let herself move, knowing that he wanted to make the journey to her himself. When he reached her she smiled up at him, seeing the triumphant smile on his own face as he gazed down on her. “I have wanted to do this for so long,” he told her, his voice choked with emotion. She could only nod in response, tears welling in her eyes as she carefully wrapped her arms around his waist. He let one of the sticks clatter to the floor, managing to balance himself just using one as he held her in a tight one-armed embrace. She could feel his hand rubbing up and down her back as she let her tears spill out. Tears of inexplicable joy at the progress he had managed to make. She understood now why he hadn’t told her. She understood now why he had waited for this moment.

“I’m sorry I kept this from you,” he murmured to her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “But I swear to you, it was done with the best of intentions.” Roslin nodded her head against his chest before she pulled back and looked up to meet his eyes. “I know,” she said simply, smiling widely at the look of relief that crossed his features. “I’m so proud of you,” she told him, and he smiled as he moved his hand to gently stroke the tears from her cheeks. “Not half as proud as I am of you, this all would have fallen apart without you,” he said, slipping his hand down to rest on her stomach. “Robb -,” she intended to protest but he shook his head to stop her. “Do not argue with me,” he said gently, “you have been perfect, but I can start to do more now. I can get back to council, and it will only be another week or so before Jeyne removes the splint from my leg. If the Gods are good it will have healed, and I can work on learning to walk properly again, get a sword back in my hand.”

She laughed shakily at the longing in his voice, resting her palms against his chest. “One step at a time,” she told him warningly, and he smiled sheepishly. “I know, I’m getting ahead of myself. I just want to leave this damn place,” he said, and she smiled slightly. “And where will we go?” she asked him, one of her hands coming to lay on his as it still rested on his stomach. “In three moons this baby will come,” she reminded him, and he sighed. “I know you’re good, but I don’t think even you can take King’s Landing, end the war, and get us back to Winterfell in that time,” she continued, smiling slightly. “And don’t even think of suggesting I go without you, not with the Ironborn there, and that bastard of Bolton’s holding Winterfell.”

“I would suggest no such thing, I promised you I would not send you away, and I won’t. We will go elsewhere, Riverrun perhaps, as soon as I am able to travel. I can recover my full strength there, and plan what to do next. I would love our child to be born at Winterfell, but I know it cannot happen. Riverrun was good enough for me,” he smiled, “so long as it isn’t born here, it matters not, but I imagine you would prefer the Riverlands if we cannot push into the North?”

“It would be preferable,” she conceded, and he smiled, bending his head down to press his lips to hers. “You will have to stay there though, when it comes time for me to march again, you do know that don’t you? We can’t take our child into a war unless we have no other choice,” he told her seriously, and she nodded her head. “I know,” she agreed, “though I will hate being apart from you, I am not selfish enough to take our child into unnecessary danger, and I would not leave it without either of its parents.”

“I will end it as swiftly as I can, and then I will come back to you, both of you,” he promised, rubbing his hand affectionately against her stomach. “You could always go to the Twins if you’d like?” he raised a brow at her, and she shook her head. “Gods no, I will stay at Riverrun gladly, do not punish me by sending me to have this baby there,” she said, shaking her head almost violently. “As you wish,” he said, “I must confess, I would prefer you being at Riverrun. It feels like the closest thing to home, since we cannot make it to Winterfell.”

“It is where we were married,” she smiled, “and where you were born. Perhaps it is fate for our little one to come into the world there too?” He kissed her again in response, and she pressed herself as close to him as she dared. “Perhaps,” he agreed with her when he pulled back, an odd look in his eyes. “What?” she asked him curiously. “You mentioning our wedding,” he said, “our time at Riverrun will not be the same as it was then, I swear that to you now.”

“It was not all bad,” Roslin smiled slightly, “I look back on some parts of it rather fondly.” He frowned a little at that, and she could tell he didn’t believe her. “Which parts?” he asked, his tone part sceptical and part curious. “Like our conversation in the library, that was progress of a kind,” she said, “and our vows…even though I knew you didn’t really want to make them it still felt like we shared something special, something…” she trailed off, not able to think of the right word. “Bonding?” he suggested, and she nodded her head in agreement. “Exactly,” she said with a smile. “You know, I may not have wanted to say those words back then,” he said, “but if you asked me to do it again now, I would. I would do it a thousand times or more, however many it took to prove to you how much I love you.”

“I don’t need proof, and I don’t need you to make your vows again. You have promised me far more important things since that mean far more than words promised between strangers in the Sept of Riverrun,” she told him, rubbing her hands up and down his upper arms in a soothing manner. “What about the Godswood?” he asked after a long moment of silence. “Would you consent to saying vows before the weirwood? I know you worship the seven, but…” he trailed off, and she met his eyes, seeing a hopeful look in them. “But you worship the Old Gods,” she finished for him, “and it seems only fair, I would be glad to pledge myself to you in a Godswood. No,” she shook her head, “not _a_ Godswood, _the_ Godswood, at Winterfell.”

“I only hope it is how I remember,” Robb said darkly, “I do not even want to think what those Ironborn could have done to it. The only hope I have is that Theon had one ounce of respect left in his traitorous body for the place we let him call home.” Roslin wasn’t sure what to say to that, and so she settled for rubbing up and down his arms again until his muscles began to relax under her touch. “I think we have been standing here far too long,” she said tentatively, “why don’t we lay down for a while? And you can tell me all about the Godswood, and what new vows I will have to learn.” He smiled at that, nodding his agreement. “I’d like that,” he said, as she stepped away and retrieved his dropped stick. “I’d like that very much.”

* * *

“What’s that?” Olyvar pointed out the distant settlement along the cliffs they were sailing past, hearing Dacey sigh in exasperation at his side. “Do you really think I know every landmark in the North?” she asked him irritably, and he grinned. “Do you not know what it is?” he asked her in return, and she folded her arms. “It’s Flint’s Finger,” she said moodily, and he smiled. “Am I irritating you?” he asked, looking about them before poking her lightly in the ribs. She didn’t answer, but he saw her lips threatening a smile. “I only want to learn about the country I will be calling home for the rest of my days,” he said, and this time a smile really did briefly adorn her lips. “I haven’t said yes,” she reminded him. “Yet,” he added, and she raised a brow.

“You seem rather confident,” she said, contemplating him with a serious expression that looked rather forced to him. “I think I have reason to be,” he said, and she rolled her eyes at him. “You know, I sometimes think I would have been better leaving you on the other ship,” she told him, and he chuckled slightly. “Even at night?” he asked her slyly, and she slapped his arm in response. “Not so loud, anyone could hear,” she said, glancing around nervously. “There is hardly anyone on deck, and they are far enough away from us,” he responded, though he could tell that she had not relaxed entirely. “Besides,” he continued, “what is so strange about the King’s right-hand woman and the queen’s brother having a conversation?”

“I think the queen is the King’s right-hand woman,” she replied drily, and Olyvar smirked. “Perhaps, but you are part of his personal guard, and he is trusting you to lead this party to the Wall,” he said, seeing her shift slightly from foot-to-foot. “I am not part of his personal guard out here, and it’s my mother who is in command, not me,” she told him, and he frowned at her defeated tone. “You can’t still be feeling guilty?” he said incredulously, turning his head to see that she was looking firmly at the deck of the ship.

“None of us knew what was going to happen with Bolton, you didn’t fail him,” he told her firmly, “no one did, he said as much himself. He hasn’t sent you away to punish you, he sent you because he needs people he can trust implicitly, because I know damn well that he doesn’t trust Stannis.” Dacey snorted slightly at that, finally lifting her head up to meet his eyes. “No one trusts Stannis,” she said, “I still can’t quite believe we have this alliance with him. It doesn’t feel right, it’s almost like…I don’t know…he gave in too easily.”

“He agreed to a meeting, he never said he would cooperate at it,” Olyvar said, “Roslin told me herself that she doesn’t think he will agree to her plans, but at least she has him there. At least if he is there we can discover his true motives, and perhaps faced with the agreement of everyone else – he might just give in.” Dacey raised a brow, a clearly sceptical look on her face. “Highgarden won’t agree,” she said, “they will cling to the Lannisters, there is still another bastard for them to marry their daughter to.”

“The Lannisters have lost their fortune, and Tywin,” he reminded her, and she nodded her head. “The Tyrells have switched sides too often, they will not do so again until they are certain of who is going to win this war. They will come at the last minute, if they come at all. The King would be better off concentrating on winning the support of the Vale, though at this point I imagine Dorne would be an easier prospect. That said, they would be unlikely to join him, given that they would have to march their standing army through the Reach. They do not have the ships to bring them all by sea.”

“Then you are saying this plan won’t work?” Olyvar asked her with a frown. “On the contrary, it _could_ work, but it relies far too much on luck and bargaining. It will be very difficult to draw up a treaty that _eight_ different men would have to agree to. The only two guaranteed to be united are the King and Lord Tully. That isn’t enough. He needs the Vale, and at least one other kingdom on his side. Stannis may have agreed to this meeting, but I do not think the Stormlands are going to be the answer to this dilemma – half of the Storm lords joined the Lannisters after Renly’s death. Stannis is too unpopular to hold the kingdom together.”

“But what other choice do we have? The King won’t take the Iron Throne, that is one thing he has always been adamant about, and I cannot see him ever changing his mind,” he said, and Dacey nodded her head in agreement. “We have no other choice but to follow the queen’s plan,” she replied, shrugging her shoulders. “Unless we miraculously discovered a claimant to the throne that is not Stannis or Tommen,” she continued wryly, “and I do not think there is anyone alive with a strong enough claim to gain the support needed, more’s the pity.”

* * *

Jeyne took a deep breath before she began to unwind Robb’s bandages. This would have been nerve-wracking enough in any situation, but feeling the eyes of the queen, Catelyn, and Arya on her was making her hands shake slightly. Robb himself was looking firmly away from her, and she knew that he was trying to hold on to his composure. She knew well enough what it would mean to him to hear the news that the break in his leg was fully healed. Even if it was he would still have weeks to go before he would be able to walk completely unaided again. Given the time he had been abed his muscles would have wasted, and his left leg would be far weaker than the right for quite some time. Likely he would be walking with at least one cane for the foreseeable future.

She pulled the last of the bandages away from him, pulling the splint gently away from his calf. Just by eye she could see the difference in his muscles. There had been far more bulk to his leg when the splint had first been attached. She set the splint aside, briefly meeting the eyes of the queen and seeing the fear that resided in them. It was understandable given what Robb had already gone through, Jeyne could well imagine that his wife did not want him to have to suffer the disappointment of his leg not having healed properly. There had been other injured men with breaks similar to Robb’s, and so far all of them had healed nicely. She had elected to keep Robb’s splint on for a week longer than theirs, just to be sufficiently cautious.

Jeyne turned her attention back to Robb’s leg, taking another composing breath before she slowly began to feel her way up from his ankle towards his knee. “Any pain?” she asked him, seeing him shake his head. “You must tell me if there is,” she said pointedly, knowing well enough what men were like when it came to admitting aches and pains. “There isn’t,” he told her, “it just feels strange, having the bandages removed.”

“It can take some getting used to,” she said sympathetically, continuing to lightly squeeze along his calf. She knew where the break had occurred, and she hesitated before touching him there. Thankfully he didn’t flinch, and she could feel nothing out of place beneath his skin. That was an encouraging sign. “Right,” she said, taking her hands off his leg, “can you lift it straight up off the bed for me?” she asked him, watching as he strained with the effort of doing so. “Good,” she said, a little breath of relief leaving her. “Was there any pain?” she asked him, and he shook his head. “It was odd, more difficult to do than it ought to have been,” he told her, and she nodded. “It is to be expected, it will take a while for you to rebuild the muscle, but you will get there,” she said encouragingly.

“Is the break healed?” the queen asked her hopefully. “I think so, I just need to check a few more movements,” Jeyne told her, and she nodded her understanding, her hands clasping more tightly around the one of Robb’s she held between them. “Can you draw up your knee?” Jeyne turned her attention back to Robb, and he grimaced as he slowly did as she asked. “It’s difficult, I know,” she said, “but can I assume you felt no stabbing pain in your calf?”

“No, none,” he confirmed, and she smiled at him. “Just a few more things,” she said apologetically, “and then I will leave you to rest, you have earned it.” Robb managed a faint smile at that, and the queen even sent her a tentative smile as well. “Can you twist your ankle from side to side?” she asked him, and he did as she had bid him, again reporting no pain. “Wonderful, now, wiggle your toes for me if you can,” she instructed, and again he did as she told him. She watched carefully, making sure that each of the digits were moving before she declared herself satisfied. “Perfect, I can see no sign of the break having not healed,” she smiled between all of those present, seeing the relief etched across each and every one of their faces.

“How long until he is in the tiltyard?” Arya asked eagerly, earning her a reproachful look from Catelyn. “I am sure he will be walking aided through it in no time, as for the sword, it will be a while yet,” Jeyne answered her before turning her attention to Robb and the queen. “Tell me what I have to do to make sure he does not strain himself,” the queen requested in an exasperated manner, and Jeyne couldn’t help but smile. “He ought to keep walking with the sticks for now,” Jeyne advised, “when he becomes perfectly steady he can try with just one, and again, when that becomes second nature he can try without. But do not push too hard,” she shifted her eyes to Robb at that point, seeing him roll his own in response.

“I know it has been frustrating, I have seen it with the other men in a similar position,” she told him pointedly, “but if you push too hard you only risk hindering your progress. Just try a little weight on your healed leg to begin with and then add more gradually. It will take time, you just need to listen to your body and not push it more quickly than it is able. Try standing unaided without taking steps; that is a good way to test how much weight your healed leg can take. It _is_ healed,” she stressed, “but that does not mean you can go back to normal right away. You need to build up muscle mass again, and remind your legs that they are not meant for doing nothing. They will remember how it all works in the end, just as you will. Just be _patient._ ”

“Patient is not a word used to describe him very often,” the queen said wryly, and Robb scowled. “You can rest assured we will all be keeping an eye on him, making sure he is not over exerting himself,” Catelyn added, and Jeyne inclined her head gratefully to her. “I am here, you know,” Robb said irritably, and Jeyne pressed her lips together to hide her smile. “Your family just want what’s best for you, you ought to listen to them,” she raised a brow at him, and he sighed irritably. “I know,” he conceded, “and I will do my best to follow your advice, thank you Jeyne, truly. You do not know how much it means to me to know that I will be on my own two feet again soon, however shakily.”

“Yes, thank you,” the queen added, nodding her head, “you have done a wonderful job tending to him in the absence of the Maester. Whatever the past, I want you to understand that you will forever have my gratitude. Sincerely, Jeyne, thank you.” The silence fell heavy in the room at the queen’s words, Robb seemingly not able to look at either at her, or his wife. Jeyne locked eyes with the woman she had once seen as her replacement. “You’re welcome,” Jeyne finally managed, “and thank you, for everything, there was never any need for you to be this gracious, and I am truly humbled by it.”

The queen moved from Robb’s side then, approaching her almost cautiously, before she stopped before her and outstretched her hand. Jeyne took it uncertainly, the queen merely squeezing it a little when she did so. She released the pressure after a moment, but did not let go of it. “You are a skilled healer, and the wife of my head guard,” the queen stated, “and I imagine Winterfell will be glad to have a woman of your skill, should you wish it. I hope you would at least consider it, and I hope, that if you do, that you would not think that you have to stay away from court. You would be most welcome, as a…” she seemed to hesitate, before a tentative smile graced her lips; “as a friend.”

 


	41. XLI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooops, was meant to post this a little earlier!
> 
> Happy new year to you all! Hope it is a fabulous one for you.
> 
> Big thanks as always for the kudos and the comment!
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one!
> 
> :)

 

* * *

“Well, you were right,” Jeyne smiled widely at Alys, “you are indeed with child.” Alys’ own smile lit up every feature of her face, and Jeyne was overjoyed for her. She had not seen her much lately, what with having taken on all of the Maester’s duties and being caught up in adjusting to married life. It had been a surprise when she had knocked on her door and asked if she could confirm her suspicions. “Gods, I cannot believe it. Edmure is going to be so thrilled!” Alys clapped her hands together after she pulled her shift back down over her stomach and sat herself up on the cot. “I will not dissuade you from telling him, but I would caution you not to mention it to anyone else until you feel the child stir,” Jeyne told her, and Alys nodded seriously.

“I know I must not, but I do wish I could tell my father. This could cheer him immensely, after losing my brothers he has not quite been the same man. Though the King’s successes have brought him some joy, I know this,” she placed her hands on her stomach, “this would mean more to him than anything else.” Jeyne couldn’t help but smile, leaning forward to place her hand on Alys’ shoulder. “It will not be long,” Jeyne promised her, “the time will fly I am sure of it, you only need look at the queen to know that much is true.”

“Likely it will be you with good news next,” Alys said, and Jeyne smiled slightly. “I can only hope,” she said, pulling back from Alys and rising up. “I will give you some privacy to redress yourself,” Jeyne said by way of explanation, moving around to the other side of the screen. She placed her hands on either side of her work bench and took a deep, steadying breath. Alys had meant well by mentioning children, but it only served to remind Jeyne of that foul tasting tea. She knew well enough, after training with the Maester, that taking such a thing had the potential to harm a woman’s future prospects when it came to child bearing. It was not something she dwelled upon often, but it did cross her mind each time her moon’s blood came upon her. She told herself it didn’t matter, that having a baby in the midst of a war was not the most desirable thing.

It would be better that she fell pregnant once it was all over and done with. That was what she kept telling herself anyway. “I’m going to go and find Edmure, thank you Jeyne,” Alys’ voice came from behind her and Jeyne turned to smile for her. “I am so happy for you Alys,” Jeyne told her sincerely, and she beamed, inclining her head at her before she made for the door. “Oh,” Alys said as she opened it, “I do hope you haven’t been waiting long, go right in, I will keep you no longer.” Jeyne recognised Damon’s voice responding to her, and she kept the smile on her face as he entered, closing the door firmly behind him.

“I thought you would be with the queen until later,” she observed as he came towards her and planted his hands on her hips. “She’s with the King and the Smalljon, and a dozen other guards, I felt distinctly un-needed,” he said teasingly, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “We can’t have that,” she said wryly, and he pulled back to look at her, frowning slightly. “Are you alright? You seem a little…tense,” his frown deepened, and she smiled again. “I’m fine,” she assured him, but he did not look entirely placated. “Why was Lady Tully here, she isn’t sick, is she?” he asked her worriedly, and she shook her head at once. “Of course not, she’s perfectly fine,” she assured him.

“I wonder if Lord Tully will be in a good mood tomorrow,” Damon said knowingly, and Jeyne rolled her eyes. “You keep your mouth shut,” she warned him, and he grinned, though his expression turned serious at once. “What is it? Please tell me,” he said softly, and she sighed heavily. “She implied it might be me next,” she told him, “but you and I both know what the Maester said about the moon tea.” Damon huffed at that, leaning his forehead down against hers. “You took it twice,” he reminded her, “whores guzzle it down as though it were wine, and somehow they still manage to fall pregnant. We’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” she smiled, determining to believe him. “I think I know the problem,” he said slyly, pushing her back until she bumped into her work bench. “I am clearly not bedding you enough,” he said, and she rolled her eyes, snaking her arms up around his neck. “Yes, that will be it,” she said wryly, and he grinned wickedly before picking her up and setting her down on the bench. “I thought you would agree,” he winked at her, before he leaned in and pressed his lips firmly to hers. She kissed him back, clutching him in a tight embrace as she determined to let his words and his kisses soothe the troubles that played on the back of her mind. She had to believe that Damon was right, that they would be blessed with children despite her foolishness with the moon tea.

* * *

Sansa didn’t like what she was hearing one bit. The shouted instruction. The numerous sets of footsteps that had passed her chamber door. In short, the unmistakable sound of preparation for company. Important company, she would wager. If she had to guess, she would say that these were the important guests that Illyrio had been insisting were on their way. He had told her a week. It had been nearer a month. Finally, it seemed, they had arrived. And with their arrival would come the truth of why she was here, at least that is what Illyrio had claimed. Sansa wasn’t entirely sure he could be trusted though. She wasn’t sure anyone could be trusted. Involuntarily she jumped at a slamming door, cursing herself for being so nervous and timid.

Whoever these people were that she would doubtless soon be presented to, she would show them. She would show them that she was no longer willing to just be a pawn in yet another game. She would tell them, they could kill her first. No longer would she lay down and submit. There was only one thing in this world that she wanted, and that was to go back to her family. If they could not promise her that then there was no way in the seven hells she would consent to whatever plan they had in store for her. She would not. Not ever. They could do whatever they pleased to her, but if they would not promise to take her home then she would give them nothing. She would not cooperate. Not for anything less than her mother’s embrace.

The inevitable knock came at her door in the end, and she rose up, catching her own eyes in the mirror as she moved to answer it. _You can do this,_ she told herself. _You can be strong. They don’t know you, you can be anything you want. You can be strong. You can, and you will._ She opened the door, a serving girl curtseying low before her. Somehow she resisted rolling her eyes. They insisted on calling her princess here, and she did not like it one bit. It made her even more suspicious of their motives than she had been before. Still, whatever scheme was afoot, she knew that the servants had not concocted it, and so she smiled nicely enough and allowed the girl to lead her to the parlour.

Outside it, she hesitated, reminding herself once more that these people didn’t know the cowering, scared little girl she had been at Joffrey’s mercy. Tyrion did, but he was constantly drunk and incoherent, so she imagined her secret would be safe with him. As far as these people knew she was a strong woman who would take no nonsense. A woman who would not be tricked into anything ever again. If Joffrey had taught her anything, it was not to give trust out easily, and not to be fooled by charming words and sweet smiles. Monsters hid behind any number of masks, and she refused to be taken in by one ever again. One last deep breath before she pushed open the door of the parlour, holding her head high as she made her entrance.

Oddly, she was somewhat comforted by the presence of Tyrion and Illyrio. Three others were with them. An older man who was perhaps around the age her father ought to be, though his skin was far more tanned and weathered. He had red hair, darker than her own, but streaked with grey. He was well built, from what she could tell, and she imagined that he had lived through many a battle. She swallowed hard, moving her eyes to the man stood leaning against the wall. He was heavily armoured, and even more tanned than the first man. He was younger, perhaps ten years the junior of the first man, with dark hair and dark eyes. Finally she moved her eyes to the final man in the room. He was the most distinctive of the three, and the youngest. He was certainly older than her, perhaps around Robb’s age, or a little older. His hair was almost white it was so blonde, and his eyes…

She snapped her head to Illyrio, seeing him smiling slightly. “Princess Sansa,” he addressed her, “our guests have travelled far to meet you.” She fixed him with a withering look, but he seemed unperturbed, as ever just smiling serenely as though he had not one care in the world. She wondered what that felt like. “Princess?” the blonde man snorted. “She is honoured with the title of princess because her brother has claimed himself a king? What right does he have?”

“He has every right,” Sansa snapped, “Robb is named King in the North, as a Stark. As the Starks were kings for hundreds of years before the _dragons_ forced them to kneel.” She emphasised the word dragons, seeing his eyes spark slightly in anger. They looked more violet now, and she had to look away from them. “Now, now,” Illyrio was clearly trying to calm the situation, looking between them almost nervously. “You are not helping anyone, Aegon,” the older man with the red hair hissed to the young man, just loudly enough for Sansa to hear. “What did you just call him?” she whispered, her imagination already running wild as her heartbeat pounded against her rib cage.

“Aegon,” the man told her, looking her right in the eyes. “Son of Rhaegar, sixth of his name, and rightful King of Westeros.” Sansa stared at him for a long moment, before she flickered her eyes back to this supposed Aegon. He raised a brow at her, as though daring her to challenge what his companion had told her. “Liar,” she shook her head, “you’re a liar. You are all liars. All of you! Why have you brought me here to witness this madness?! Why are you doing this?! Was Joffrey not enough?!” she was almost screaming now and every man in the room seemed at a loss for words. “You!” she pointed at the blonde man. “You are dead!” every word shook. “And you, and you, and you,” she pointed to everyone but Tyrion, “are all mad! This, this _scheme,_ I will have no part of it, whatever it is. _You_ ,” she pointed at Illyrio, “arrange me a ship back to Westeros. My brother will see you paid, name you price, he will pay it!”

“With what? The North is rich in nothing but snow,” the red-headed man said dismissively, and she clenched her fists hard to stop herself from lashing out at him. “The North is rich with things you could never hope to understand,” her voice was shaking with barely suppressed emotions. “And I wish with all my heart that I had never left, then maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe my father wouldn’t have lost his head, maybe my brother would not have had a crown forced atop his head. Maybe -,” she caught herself before she could say anything about Joffrey, remembering she was supposed to be strong. “Don’t you dare imply that Robb would not pay,” she snarled, “he _will,_ send me back and you will see. He will pay you in all the gold of Casterly Rock. He will. For me, he _will_ pay, I know it. Send me back. Send me back and you will see.”

“Gold is good,” the heavily armoured man finally spoke into the silence. “I like gold.” The red-headed man sighed irritably, and Tyrion let out a humourless laugh. “You would get on so well with my father,” Tyrion slurred, “or you would have done…” he trailed off, wagging his finger. Sansa rolled her eyes, sending him a scathing look. “Yes, yes,” she said in a bored tone, “if you hadn’t killed him. Keep drinking my lord, you clearly haven’t had enough to forget just yet!”

“Gold is all very well,” the red-headed man spoke irritably to the heavily armoured man. “But we did not come here for gold, we came here for a queen who could bring us an army.” Sansa’s eyes almost fell from her head at that, and she shook her head, backing away several paces. It was tempting to go for the door. How far would she get? Not far enough, but perhaps she could get somewhere before they dragged her back kicking and screaming. “No,” she said firmly, “no, not me, you can’t mean me. I won’t. I swear I won’t. I’d rather be dead.”

“I’m not that horrific, am I?” the supposed Aegon tried a jape, but no one cracked a smile. “You want to go home, Aegon can take you when he sails with his army,” the red-headed man told her. “You will see your family again, and your brother can keep his northern crown, in return for assisting Aegon to take his rightful place on the Iron Throne. All you need to do is consent, marry Aegon, become his queen, and you can go home.”

“Stop calling him that!” she snapped. “Aegon Targaryen is dead, the memory of it used to torment my father. He. Is. Dead. You have found some imposter who bears a resemblance, that’s all. That is not enough to take the Iron Throne! Robb could take it himself, without your aid, why in the seven hells would he want to help you?!”

“If he wanted to take it, he would have done so by now, I imagine he does not. Therefore, someone must. Someone he can trust, someone who is bound to him as kin. You are the key to ending this war, Sansa, can you not see that?” it was Illyrio who asked her, his tone soft and persuasive. She would not be persuaded though. Not on this. “You named him usurper,” she ignored Illyrio and directed her accusing tones at ‘Aegon’. “And you,” she moved her eyes to his red-headed companion, “you insult my homeland. And you,” she looked at the armoured man, “I don’t even know who in the seven hells you are, but you like gold, my brother will give you gold. Just get me away from these lunatics and he will give you enough gold to last you a thousand lifetimes.”

“That’s a lot of gold,” the armoured man said, looking towards the other two hopefully. “No gold,” the red-headed man snapped irritably. “I thought she was supposed to be meek and proper,” ‘Aegon’ said just as irritably, “Varys assured us she would be compliant in this. He said she would bow her head like a proper lady and do her duty.”

“And I thought you were supposed to be dead,” Sansa said sarcastically, folding her arms and glaring at him. He glared right back, and it seemed no one else in the room was willing to interrupt their murderous staring at one another. “This is all very interesting,” Tyrion finally spoke up again, getting to his feet rather unsteadily. “But you gentlemen are forgetting one very important detail,” he swayed on the spot, wagging his finger and spilling wine all over the floor. “Sansa is already married, to me.” Tyrion pointed at himself, and Sansa started laughing out of sheer relief. In all her anger she had clear forgotten that there was no question of her marrying this imposter. She was Tyrion’s wife, and for the first time since they had wed, she was glad of it. “Yes,” she nodded her head triumphantly, “yes, I am.”

“It will be annulled easily enough, especially since it has not been consummated,” Illyrio said dismissively and Sansa swallowed hard. “Not without my consent,” she said clearly, and every man in the room turned to stare at her. “I can get you home,” the man claiming to be Aegon spoke up, his tone the softest she had heard it. “No you can’t,” she shook her head, “even if it all went as you say it will, I would never be able to go home. I would see my family, yes, but then I would have to live in that _place_ with you, wouldn’t I?”

“What is the alternative?” he shrugged his shoulders, looking around as though for inspiration. “You stay married to _him_? You live out your days in exile? You have no friends here, no one who can help you aside from us. Your name means nothing here, nothing to anyone but us, and when we are gone, so is your one chance at getting home.”

“You don’t know that,” Sansa said, her voice beginning to tremble. “I do,” he said quietly, and she pressed her lips together hard to stop herself succumbing to her rising emotions. _Strong, you have to be strong. Don’t show them how weak you truly are._ “If I could get word to Robb, he would come for me, I know he would,” she said, and it suddenly seemed that no one in the room aside from Tyrion could look at her. He swayed his way towards her, spilling a few drops of wine onto her pale blue silks as he did so. The sight was rather ominous, and she had to look away. Tyrion reached up for her hand and she hesitantly gave him her own.

“This could be your only chance,” he said, his voice not much louder than a whisper. She shook her head, refusing to believe him. “You’re drunk,” she said in response, and he smiled slightly. “Yes, I am drunk, and foolish, and a murder, and a kinslayer, and a halfman who has never deserved someone as lovely as you. And I am not saying that this _Aegon_ does, but…but don’t dismiss all this too quickly. I know what Joffrey did to you, how he crushed you and tried to take every ounce of your spirit away from you. But I can also see that he didn’t succeed. Consider it, is all I am saying to you,” he came to the end of his speech, dropping her hand and stepping back from her, draining his cup of wine as he did so. “More wine, please,” he slurred, and Illyrio wrinkled his nose in clear distaste.   

“I don’t like this,” Sansa said, looking between all of them before she finally let her gaze linger on the new claimant to the Iron Throne. “I don’t like any of it, but I will think about it,” she said, “and I would prefer that you left me in peace to do so.” The blonde man nodded his head slightly, and she inclined her own to him before she summoned up all her courage, picking up her skirts and forcing herself to walk slowly and gracefully from the room.

* * *

“It has been a long time since we have been able to do this,” Roslin said happily, clinging tightly to Robb’s free arm as they made slow progress across the courtyard. “Too long,” he agreed with her, adjusting his grip on the one cane he needed to aid him as they continued their slow walk. Roslin never seemed irritated with his pace, but he did wish that he didn’t have to think so hard about the simple task of walking when all he wanted to think about was spending this time with his wife. With every passing day their time left as just the two of them grew shorter and shorter. When the baby came it would change everything, and it would mean that the next time he marched out to war, he would be leaving her behind. Leaving both of them behind. He swallowed hard and glanced down at her, seeing that a contented smile adorned her face.

Robb looked away again after a long moment, his eyes scanning along the ramparts. “I’m not sure you are ready for steps just yet,” Roslin said knowingly, and he sighed. “I can manage the ones in and out of the keep,” he countered her, and she squeezed his arm more tightly. “There are far fewer,” she reminded him, but he was determined to win this battle. “We are leaving for Riverrun in a few days, I want to climb up there and see them for myself,” he said determinedly, and she made no more word of protest. Robb assumed her agreement, adjusting their course slightly so that they were now aiming for the base of the steps that led up onto the battlements. He could feel it in his legs that he would be exhausted by the time he eventually got back into the keep, but he knew it would be worth it. Doubtless Roslin would insist on him staying indoors for the next few days, but he could live with that. He would gladly live with that so long as he could see the banners flying just once.

He knew he would be able to look back on them from the carriage when they set off for Riverrun, but it would not be the same sight. The sight he wanted to see was the true image of the drawing Roslin had sketched for him all those weeks ago. He wanted her to show him the exact place she had stood, and he wanted to look up and see them. “I will go first,” Roslin said when they reached the base of the steps. “Ser Damon would you stay close behind him, and make sure he keeps his free hand on the railings?” she continued, and he rolled his eyes at her as her guard promised his agreement. “I’m not a child,” he told his wife through gritted teeth, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “No, but you will soon have one,” she countered, “and I will not have you undo all your progress by tumbling down these steps.”

“I won’t,” he insisted as she fixed him with a look that did indeed make him feel exactly like a child. “Good,” she said simply, turning and making her own way slowly up the steps. If Robb didn’t know any better he would say she was clinging on to the railings so firmly to prove a point to him. As it was, he did know better, and he knew that she was just nervous about taking the steps as she could barely see her feet over her swollen stomach. Robb followed her carefully, thanking the Gods that the steps were even, and he did as she wanted and kept his free hand firmly on the railings as he made excruciatingly slow progress up the steps. The Gods only knew how he would get down. He may even have to ask Ser Damon for help, which he was sure would not be humiliating in the slightest.

When he finally got to the top of the ramparts he was gasping for breath, and Roslin was looking at him in concern. “I’m fine,” he shook his head, his voice more than a little breathless. She looked sceptical but she didn’t push him on it. “How far?” he asked her, determined not to look up at the banners until he was in the right spot. “Just there,” she pointed to a spot where a few empty arrow barrels had been turned upside down, and he imagined she had sat atop one of them to do her drawing. He could see her now, deep in concentration as she worked on completing the sketch for him, and it brought a smile to his face. “Not far at all,” he said in a slightly relieved tone, offering her his arm, which she took almost instantly. “You could just look from here,” she said hopefully, but he shook his head, already moving towards the barrels. “No, I want to see the scene from your drawing,” he told her, and she didn’t speak up again to dissuade him.

When they reached the barrels he sank gratefully down onto one of them, Roslin taking the other. Robb glanced to see that Ser Damon had stopped just far enough away from them to give them privacy, and he was silently grateful. “I know I didn’t want you to come up here, but I am so proud that you managed it,” Roslin told him quietly, reaching her hand over to settle on his knee. “Thank you,” he replied, laying his hand on top of hers before he finally turned his eyes upwards to see the banners. The sight was almost enough to have tears stinging his eyes, seeing the direwolf waving proudly in the sea breeze. It finally hit him then, what he and his armies had achieved, and all thanks to the woman sat at his side. “Was it worth the wait?” she asked him teasingly, and he nodded his head. “They wouldn’t be flying without you,” he told her honestly, squeezing his hand around hers. “We couldn’t have done it without you, thank you, Roslin. Thank you so much.”


	42. XLII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to those who left kudos.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy the new installment!
> 
> :)

 

* * *

“I cannot believe we are finally leaving this place,” Roslin said in a relieved tone, leaning her head down against Robb’s shoulder as the carriage jerked into motion. “I cannot believe I have to ride in this stupid carriage,” Arya muttered, loudly enough for everyone to hear her. Catelyn pursed her lips, turning to fix her daughter with a disapproving look. “We are still at war Arya,” she reminded her, “it is better for us all to be travelling together or else our guard would have to be more spread out. It’s safer this way.” Arya huffed at that, folding her arms and muttering darkly under her breath about how unfair it was. “If you show a little more grace I will allow you to ride with the guard when we are deep enough into the Riverlands,” Robb said, and it was his turn to receive a disapproving look.

“The Mountain is still roaming around the Riverlands, if reports are to be believed,” Catelyn reminded her son, but he didn’t seem concerned. “I don’t even think the Mountain is foolish enough to launch an attack on an army of this size. He barely has a hundred in his own party. They are out to make a nuisance of themselves, not engage us in battle,” Robb explained to her, but she was still not completely happy with his compromise with Arya. “From what we have heard in council he is doing a very good job of making a nuisance of himself. We may not suffer at his hands, but the smallfolk certainly are,” Roslin spoke up quietly but intently, and Robb sighed heavily in response. “When we are back at Riverrun we can look at finding a way to stop him,” he said, “but until then, there is precious little I can do about it.”

“If you move to attack the Mountain then it will mean having to split your men,” Catelyn reminded him, and he nodded his agreement. “I know that well enough,” he said, “but I am not in any condition to ride into battle, and I will not be for some time yet. The Mountain needs to be stopped, and I need to take Moat Cailin back into northern control. From there we may be able to push further up and retake Winterfell. Then work can be started on the demolition of the Dreadfort.” Catelyn raised her brows at that, but Robb merely shrugged. “It was Roslin’s idea,” he said, and Catelyn’s brows rose even higher.

“I think we could make good use of the stone,” Roslin said slightly defensively, “besides, given the stories I have heard of that place, I am not sure passing it over to the control of someone else is a good idea. It would be more of a curse than a blessing. Best it comes down, and that we forget it ever stood there. It will serve as a good reminder to anyone foolish enough to consider committing treason against Robb again, knowing what will happen to them. Speaking of which, do you intend to rid the world of Bolton at Riverrun, or wait?”

“I’ll have rid of him once I have rid myself of this damn cane,” Robb replied, “I will not show him an ounce of weakness. I don’t want him to know how low he had me sink.” Catelyn had no words for that, and it seemed Roslin didn’t either, as she just moved to squeeze her hand around Robb’s knee, leaning her head back down against his shoulder. Remembering how weak Robb had been made her want to clench her fists together and beat them repeatedly against Bolton’s face. Though, being a lady, she would never give in to such temptation. Seeing Robb recover was all the justice she needed, though the removal of Bolton’s head would no doubt bring her far more satisfaction that she would ever care to admit.

“Can I watch?” Arya asked before the silence grew too awkward, and Catelyn rolled her eyes. “Why would you want to watch such a thing?” Catelyn asked her, shaking her head. “Because he tried to kill my brother, and I want to see Robb take his revenge,” Arya said, as though it were the most obvious answer in the world. “Justice, Arya,” she corrected her, and Arya rolled her eyes, sharing an amused look with Robb that Catelyn didn’t fail to notice. “He tried to kill me, and he would have no doubt killed my wife and my entire family before taking my home and my lands as his. Yes, taking his head will be justice mother, but don’t expect me not to enjoy some element of vengeance,” Robb said, and she sighed in defeat.

“No one would expect you not to enjoy it,” Roslin said soothingly, “I confess, I think I myself will take a great deal of satisfaction from it.” Catelyn nodded her own head at that, finally giving in and admitting that she too would see it as something far more than mere justice. “I would rather you stayed away,” Robb directed towards Roslin, and Catelyn steeled herself. Even Arya looked a little apprehensive at the dark look that crossed Roslin’s face at his words. “Why?” the one word was laced with venom, and Catelyn shared an uneasy look with Arya. This was not the kind of conversation that either of them should be intruding on, but it seemed they had little choice in the matter.

“Why do you think?” Robb returned, moving his hand to lay atop her well rounded stomach. “You think because I am with child that I cannot stomach seeing a man’s head cut from his shoulders?” Roslin demanded of him, and Catelyn did not envy her son one bit. She had witnessed Roslin’s wrath in council on a few occasions, and seen it directed towards Olyvar when he had left for the Wall. It was not pretty, and she was surprised that Robb was willing to risk riling her in such a way. “No,” he said calmly, “I just think I would prefer you to be well rested and keeping yourself calm, for both of your sakes.”

“If we can both survive the shock of you almost being killed, then we can certainly survive watching you deal justice to the man who would have taken you from us,” Roslin said, protectively coming to cradle her stomach in her hands. “Roslin, please…” Robb tried, his tone exasperated now, but Catelyn knew well enough that Roslin would not back down on this. “No,” she shook her head, “I’m going to be there, at your side where I belong, even if I have to drag myself from my childbed. I’m watching. I deserve that as much as you, for all we know Bolton could well have been behind that man who attacked me back at Oxcross.”

“If I ever have to get married, that’s the kind of wife I’m going to be,” Arya said in a slightly awestruck voice, and Catelyn had to bite back a smile. “Oh, for the love of the Gods,” Robb leant his head back against the carriage and put his hand to his forehead. “I think that roughly translates to, ‘yes Roslin, I will be glad to have you there’,” Roslin told Arya with a smirk, and Arya grinned widely. “Fine,” Robb growled, “by the Gods you are impossible sometimes.”

“You didn’t complain about that when I was running your kingdoms for you, you cannot have it both ways,” Roslin told him, and he huffed loudly, though Catelyn could clearly see him hiding a smile. “No, it appears I cannot,” he agreed with her, “but you are not dragging yourself from your childbed. If I have to postpone his execution until after you have recovered then I will. Though I am hopeful I will be rid of this cane soon, and strong enough to wield the sword before the end of the moon. Then we can enjoy our baby being born without him hanging over us.”

“Nothing will spoil our baby being born, especially not him,” Roslin said firmly, gripping Robb’s hand tightly. “Don’t rush your recovery, you know what Jeyne said. Bolton isn’t going anywhere, we have made certain of that.” Catelyn couldn’t help but agree with her, having seen from the opposite side of the courtyard how many chains Bolton was clad in when he was led to a windowless carriage. It was being pulled along in the middle of the marching men, and surrounded by guards led by the Smalljon. Robb wanted him nowhere near them, and Catelyn was glad of his wish. Just seeing him from a distance had been enough to make her skin crawl. The sooner they were at Riverrun and he was back down in a cell where he belonged, the better.

* * *

Sansa had avoided them for four days, and she was still no closer to reaching a decision. Being stuck inside didn’t help, so on the morning of the fifth day she finally snapped and let herself out of her room. It was not as though she had been told to stay inside. Illyrio had said that she was allowed the run of the manse and whatever luxury that pleased her. She understood well enough now why he had been so accommodating. He had been buttering her up before revealing the truth. The _truth_. She almost scoffed as she made her way down the hallways and out the open doors that led onto the veranda. There was no one around, and so she made her way down the steps and onto the lawns. The sun was almost unbearable, though her eyes soon found a leafy corner of the garden that was covered in shade.

She walked almost urgently towards it, sinking down onto the grass when she arrived, and turning her eyes up to the impossibly blue skies. What in the name of the Gods was she supposed to do? Take her chances and stay here? In the hopes that somehow she could get word to Robb, or that somehow he might be able to find her. He must have scouts scouring the land for her, but even if they did hear whispers that she was here, how were they supposed to get her out? Illyrio’s manse was a fortress. Even an army would have a job getting in. What hope did a few scouts have? She sighed heavily. Her other option was to do as they asked, consent to marrying the man who claimed to be Aegon, and hope to the Gods that Robb would help her. He couldn’t have a large army, else he wouldn’t need her. All she needed was to use him to get back to Westeros, and then…

And then what? Just let Robb kill him? Double cross him? She almost shuddered at the thought. Her father had been betrayed by a supposed friend and ally. Her brother had been betrayed by one of his own bannermen. She despised those men for their betrayal, how could she just sink to their level? Gods. She put her head in her hands and massaged at her temples, trying to work out in her mind what was the best thing to do. If only she could speak to her mother. Or someone. All she had was Tyrion, and he had been of no help at all since his brief moment of coherence in the parlour. He had gone back to his cups, and she couldn’t even be bothered to try and snap him out of them. She had enough troubles without taking on his as well.

“Am I intruding?” she jumped at the voice, snapping her head up to see _Aegon,_ or whatever his name was, standing above her. “I can go,” he continued, shifting slightly from foot-to-foot. “You don’t have to,” she said heavily, and he seemed to hesitate for a moment before he came to settle on the grass opposite her. She avoided his eyes, they unnerved her. Not because they were cold or murderous, but because they made her want to believe his impossible tale. “I understand your scepticism,” he said quietly, playing with a blade of grass. “I don’t have any proof, aside from a few trinkets that Jon never sold,” he said, and she raised a brow questioningly. “Jon Connington,” he elaborated, “the man who is with me, my guardian if you will.”

Sansa frowned slightly, the name sounding vaguely familiar to her, though she could not think why. “He supposedly drank himself to death after the death of my father, Varys’ idea,” he explained to her, and she nodded slowly. “So both of you are dead then,” she said wryly, and a slight smile twitched at his lips. “He raised me as his son to keep me safe, I have only just managed to rid my hair of all the blue dye…don’t ask,” he shook his head when she frowned questioningly at him. “A disguise, I imagine,” she offered after a moment of silence, “blue would help mask your eyes as well, I suppose.”

“Indeed,” he agreed with her, and she swallowed hard as she briefly met the eyes in question. “Why me?” she asked him quietly, and he sighed heavily, something that looked almost like regret flashing across his features. “An opportunity presented itself,” he said awkwardly, and she grit her teeth. “An opportunity? I am a person, you know, did you consider I might not have the same aspirations as you do?” she asked him heatedly, irritated when he merely smirked. “I considered you would be meek and pliable, Varys certainly got that one wrong,” he chuckled, and she glared at him. “Perhaps I grew tired of being weak and allowing men to take advantage of me,” she snapped, and he stopped laughing at once.

“I know that’s what it must sound like -,” he started awkwardly, but she cut him off. “That is exactly what it is like,” she hissed again, “you have no idea, do you? No idea at all.” She turned away from him bitterly, and a silence fell over them again. “So tell me,” he finally spoke, and she lifted her eyes to his once more. It was tempting to tell him no, to storm away and lock herself back in her room, but instead she opened her mouth and told him everything. About Joffrey, how he had tricked her into believing how sweet and caring he was. How she had believed that he would love her and treasure her as his wife and queen. How she had longed for their wedding, dreamed about their perfect children. She told him about the queen, how she had gone to her and told her about her father’s plan to leave the Capitol.

She choked a little as she told him about seeing her father dragged away for a treason that she knew he would never commit. How the queen had manipulated her into writing that letter to Robb, telling him to surrender and swear fealty. Telling him that their father was a traitor. She told him about standing on the steps of the Sept and watching as Joffrey, the boy she was so sure loved her, went back on his word and called for her father’s head. How she had screamed. How she regretted everything in that moment when they murdered him right in front of her. The blood. All that blood.

She choked again and she saw his hand twitch slightly, though he made no move to touch her. “He took me up onto the ramparts and made me look at his head,” she said dully, “and I wanted to push him down. I wanted to kill him, I swear, for a moment I thought I would. But I was too weak, too afraid of my own head set up there next to my father’s. And from then on I just wanted to go home, but they wouldn’t let me. Even when Robb took the Kingslayer, and battled his way across the Westerlands. Even when he took Casterly Rock, still they refused to treat with him. Joffrey told me himself when Robb was betrayed, he crowed about it, gloated about how he would die. How he would serve his head up for me at his wedding feast, and the head of my mother, and Arya, and even Robb’s wife. I have never even met her, and yet he…”

She trailed off, shaking her head, unable to say any more. “And Tyrion?” he asked her tentatively, to which she raised her hands slightly in an almost hopeless gesture. “They pawned me off on him when the Tyrells saved them from the Blackwater,” she said bitterly, “and now…well, you’ve seen how he is now. He did his best to be kind to me, I know that, but I was just too terrified of all of them to have appreciated it at the time.”

“And he never touched you?” he asked in a slightly awkward fashion, and she clenched her fists. “Why? Are you worried you would not be getting a pure maid?” she snapped at him, and he shook his head at once. “No, Gods no!” he protested. “I merely thought, after everything you have just told me, that you had suffered enough without losing your innocence as well. I wasn’t thinking about that at all, Gods…I think I will be lucky to get a wife at all, the way I seem to offend you at every turn.”

“That was my fault,” she conceded, “I presumed, I shouldn’t have.” She offered a faint smile, and he returned it. “Do you believe it?” she asked him tentatively. “Do you believe that you are who they say you are?” He shrugged his shoulders, an almost despairing look in his eye as he did so. “I only know what I am told,” he said, “that my mother smuggled me away when the Lannisters were at the gates, and replaced me with a babe from the slums. He died in my place and I was smuggled across the Narrow Sea. Jon raised me, and he told me everything from when I was old enough to understand. Varys and Illyrio kept us informed of what was happening in Westeros, just waiting until I was of an age, until there was a moment for us to strike.”

“And now there is?” she guessed. “You must have some kind of army, and ships? But you need more, and that’s why you need me.” He nodded his confirmation, and she sighed heavily, contemplating him. “Many people rejoiced the end of the Targaryen dynasty,” she told him honestly, and he nodded his agreement with her. “Rejoiced the end of my grandfather, I do not doubt,” he said, “but Jon told me how much they loved my father. He tells me I am his very image, that the people will love me just as they loved him.” His tone was almost longing, and Sansa couldn’t help but feel a stab of pity towards him. “Maybe they did love him,” she said softly, “but that was before the war, before what he did to my Aunt Lyanna.”

“Jon said the tale is false, that your aunt went willingly. I don’t know why my father did what he did, and though I wish he hadn’t, I understand why your father raised arms against him,” he said, “none of them knew the truth. Jon swears that my father loved Lyanna Stark, and what can I do but believe him? I have no memories of my own, can you blame me for clinging to his? For wanting to believe the best of the family I never knew?!” Sansa shook her head automatically, seeing the emotion in his expression and the moisture welling in his eyes. “No,” she confirmed softly, and he nodded his head gratefully.

“I won’t force you to marry me,” he said, “but I could be good to you, and with the right guidance I could be a good king, I know it. All I want is peace, and justice for my family. And, though I know you do not want to admit it, this alliance with your brother could solve all of our problems. I know of his plan to split the kingdoms, and I know it will never work. I imagine he does too, but he has no other option, since he does not want the Iron Throne. I was cruel to name him a usurper, I can understand well enough why he marched. Not for gain, but for…” he hesitated, his eyes meeting hers and holding them fast, “for family.”

“Yes,” she said quietly, swallowing hard. “Yes?” he repeated, looking half hopeful and half confused. “Yes, I will marry you,” she said, seeing a delighted smile light up his face. If she were still young and foolish then she would delude herself into thinking it was because he was glad to be getting her. She knew better now though, she knew his delight was because he had a chance to get his hands on Robb’s army. She closed her eyes, praying to the Gods that she was doing the right thing. “But I swear,” she opened them again to meet his, “if you wrong me, or make me suffer at your hands the way he did, I will have Robb kill you. I will have him destroy you and all who bow before you, I swear, I will.”

“I believe you,” he replied, and she believed that he truly did. “It is not my intention to make you suffer, but I understand well enough why you would be cautious, given the abomination you have previously been betrothed to. I will speak to Illyrio about a Septon,” he said, hesitating slightly before rising up to his feet. “Would you like me to escort you back inside?” he asked her, and she shook her head. “I’d like to be on my own for a while,” she told him quietly, and he nodded his head. “I understand,” he said simply, and one look into his eyes had Sansa imagining that maybe he did understand. Even if it was just a little bit.

* * *

“Would you look at that,” Olyvar breathed wondrously as his boots came to find solid ground again. “We have skilled builders here in the North,” Dacey said as she came to a halt at his side, both of them gazing up at the seemingly never ending wall of ice. It went up so high that Olyvar could not make out the top in the faint light of dusk. Though something told him he would not be able to see it even during daylight hours. “That is not the only thing you are skilled at,” he said slyly when he finally tore his eyes from the magnificent structure. “Do you think of anything else?” Dacey asked him exasperatedly, though he could see the smile twitching at her lips. “How can I when you are so damn beautiful?” he returned, and she rolled her eyes. “Shouldn’t you write to the queen?” she said, and he sighed heavily in response.

Yes, he supposed he ought to write to Roslin. No doubt Dacey’s mother would be writing to the King to inform him of their landing at the Wall, but Olyvar imagined that Roslin would be rather irritated if he didn’t write to her, and he had done enough recently to incur her wrath. He had told her he couldn’t just stay with her and the main army while Dacey went to the Wall though, and in the end she had grudgingly told him she understood. Olyvar knew she did, knowing that there was no way in the seven hells she would ever consent to being away from the King without good reason. “Will you be sharing my tent tonight?” he asked Dacey in an undertone as he watched the men beginning to erect them. “It is very cold here, it might be beneficial,” she said in a teasing tone, and he grinned at her.

“But for now I need to go and speak with my mother, plans need to be agreed upon with Stannis,” she grimaced when she spoke the name of their reluctantly required ally, and he smiled sympathetically. “You know where to find me,” he said simply, and she nodded her head, touching the back of her hand to his gently before she wandered off into the crowds of men. Olyvar soon lost sight of her in the rush to get the camp in order. They would want the fires burning bright and the tents erected by the time night fell upon them, and it was fast approaching. A lot of the men seemed certain it would snow in the night, and Olyvar was most definitely not looking forward to that. Through the bustling men he saw a glimpse of red, and he had to supress a shudder.

He knew well enough who she was, though he had never come face to face with her since Roslin had banned her from the Rock. He had assumed she would be with Stannis though, and the proof was before him now. Thankfully she didn’t look in his direction, and he was glad of it. The thought of her unnerved him as it did the other folk from the Riverlands and the Northmen alike. She was a sorceress, or so they said, capable of manipulating shadow and flame. It was on her say so that they were all here, because she had seen the coming of the wildling army in the flames. Olyvar watched her progress for a moment before he turned and walked firmly in the opposite direction. He wanted nothing to do with her, not after what she had supposedly done to Renly.

The King had been horrified to learn of it, and Olyvar knew it was that fear of her magic that had led to Roslin banning her from entering the Rock. His sister was fearless in the face of most things, but even just speaking about the red priestess made her words shake. The woman was a threat, and not just to rival kings, but to the whole of Westeros. She was against all those who did not share her belief in the red God. How Stannis could ever imagine to win the Iron Throne with such a woman at his side Olyvar did not know. The people would not give up the seven, and the Northmen would not give up their heart trees. And why should they? They had worshipped them for so long, worshipped them in peace and in harmony with one another. It mattered not to Olyvar that his King worshipped different Gods to him, what mattered was that he did not seek to repress those he does not follow.

Stannis would though, at the advice of his red witch. Stannis would oppress all who would not bow down to his new-found God. She had burned hundreds already. Olyvar dreaded to think what could happen if Stannis ever came into any real power. He was a puppet, being played by this bewitching woman who so clearly had an agenda of her own. Olyvar could see it. Everyone could see it, so very clearly. But Stannis would not, and Olyvar was willing to wager that his blind faith in her would be the ruin of him in the end. He would stake his very soul on it.

 


	43. XLIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all very much for the kudos! Hope you enjoy the new chapter.
> 
> :)

* * *

Sansa sat, fisting her hands in the silks of her dress and trying to remember how to breathe properly. All of this had been going so fast, since she had consented to marry Aegon the Septon had already come to annul her marriage to Tyrion. She had signed her name on the document with shaking hands. His had shaken too, though she imagined that that was more because he was drunk again than nervous about what was to come next. Her second wedding was to come next, and she fisted her hands even more tightly in her skirts as she thought on it. The Septon was waiting in the gardens. There was to be no grand ceremony. No one was to know about this aside from those already aware of the plan. No one else would know until they had sailed back to Westeros. Then her new husband would write to Robb. She swallowed hard.

Somehow she managed to take deep breaths, trying not to think about exactly what would happen after the wedding took place. It was already growing dark outside, and still no one had come to fetch her. For a wild moment she imagined that Aegon had changed his mind. She was deluding herself. He wanted this wedding more than anyone else, she had seen it in his eyes when she had signed the annulment. There would be no feasting tonight, just a private dinner in Aegon’s chambers, and then…Well, she did not want to think about what would come next. Somehow she didn’t imagine that he would be forgoing his rights as her husband, as Tyrion had. Come sunrise her innocence would be lost to her, along with everything else.

A knock came at the door then, and she jumped, calling for her visitor to come in. She raised her brows in surprise when she saw who it was. One because he had come at all, and two because he wasn’t showing any signs of being drunk. “Tyrion,” she smiled thinly in greeting, and she thought an almost sheepish look came across his face. “I’m here to escort you,” he said clearly, his voice not slurring. “I’m surprised you’re in any fit state,” Sansa said drily, and he chuckled a little. “I wish you hadn’t hid your wits from me when we were married,” he said jokingly, “it might have made it a lot more bearable for both of us.”

“I didn’t hate being married to you,” she conceded, and he smiled faintly. “High praise indeed,” he said, and she laughed lightly. “Gods,” she said, “I don’t know what I’m doing here Tyrion. Please tell me I’m doing the right thing.” He came closer to her at that, and hesitantly offered his hand to take her own. She placed hers in his, and he squeezed lightly. “You are doing what you believe to be right, so you can go home to your family,” he said, “and perhaps this could be a real chance of happiness for you. I don’t know the truth of Aegon’s birth nor his claim, but from what I have observed he seems like a decent young man, and you deserve decent after everything that’s happened to you.”

“What if it doesn’t work? What if Robb won’t ally with him? What will happen to me then?” she asked almost desperately, and Tyrion shook his head slowly. “I don’t know,” he shrugged, smiling slightly. “I cannot tell you that, for I cannot see the future, but I urge you to have faith. Your brother loves you, he just might need all of this explaining to him properly. I cannot see him blindly following Aegon, but he will listen to you, you are his sister after all, and he has fought a war to find you and bring you home.”

“But he will not bring me home,” Sansa said quietly, “after tonight I will no longer be his to bring home.” Tyrion seemed to have no reply to that, his hand twitching around hers again for a moment before he tugged on it to encourage her off the end of her bed. “Come now, you are a new woman here, and a new husband awaits,” he smiled, “and I am certain that he will deserve you far more than I ever did.” Sansa smiled at that, keeping her hand in Tyrion’s as they made their way out into the hallway. “You were not a terrible husband, not when you were sober, at least,” Sansa quipped, and he chuckled at her, leading her down the hallways and towards the already open doors that led into the gardens. “Ready?” he asked her as they paused on the step. “I have to be,” she replied, her eyes fixed on the lantern bobbing in the distance.

* * *

Roslin walked through the camp as the darkness descended upon them, she was only going from Lady Stark’s tent to her own and Robb’s, and so she had told Ser Damon he could leave her for the night. He had agreed, though she could tell it was grudgingly. No doubt he was worried about what Robb would say to him if he caught Roslin by herself. She hadn’t seen the point in dragging him to her tent though, not when she could see it clearly from where she was. There were three campfires to light the way and all men she recognised sitting around them. She was as certain as anyone could be that she would be just fine by herself. The men greeted her as she passed, wishing her good health for herself and the baby.

She beamed back at them, thanking them for their concern as she approached the tent where Robb was waiting. They were not far from Riverrun now, only a few more days and they would be back in the place where it all started for them. Things were so different now though, thank the Gods. So different in fact, that Roslin did not feel at all worried or suspicious at seeing Jeyne emerge from their tent as she drew up to it. “My queen,” she curtsied slightly, her brow furrowing slightly as she rose up again. “Where’s Damon?” she asked confusedly, and Roslin smiled. “I didn’t think there any need for him to walk me from Lady Stark’s tent, I sent him away,” she answered, “is Robb alright?”

“He’s fine, I was just checking on his leg, the muscle is definitely growing stronger,” Jeyne reported to her, and she nodded slightly. “He is growing more able by the day,” she agreed, and Jeyne nodded her head. The baby moved rather insistently then, and Roslin winced slightly, rubbing at her ribs. “Are you alright?” Jeyne asked her concernedly, and Roslin nodded her confirmation. “I swear, if it grows any more I will burst,” Roslin said, and Jeyne smiled, though Roslin could see a hint of sadness in her eyes. “Are _you_ alright?” she asked, and Jeyne nodded at once. “Of course,” Jeyne said, and Roslin knew well enough that her tone was false. She had used it herself often enough at the beginning of her marriage. “Do you want to talk?” Roslin asked her quietly, and Jeyne seemed to hesitate a moment before she nodded her head.

“Come on,” Roslin inclined her own head towards her tent, pushing back the flap and leading the way in. “There you are, I thought you’d got lost,” Robb said, his smile faltering a little when he saw Jeyne coming in after her. “No,” Roslin said, smiling for him, “but you are about to. Some of the men are playing cards, you ought to join them. Share a drink. It will do you good to stretch your legs.” Robb frowned slightly at that, his eyes flickering between her and Jeyne. Roslin widened her own insistently, jerking her head towards the tent entrance. “Very well, whatever pleases you,” he said tiredly, and she smiled, moving to press her lips to his cheek for a lingering moment. “Thank you,” she whispered against him before she pulled back. “I will not be all night,” he said in response, inclining his head to Jeyne, before he slowly made his way out of the tent.

“He will get used to this eventually,” Roslin said brightly, seeing Jeyne smile a little in response. “Sit,” Roslin encouraged her, “I will get you some wine, it seems as though you need it.” Jeyne did not disagree with her, and Roslin wondered what it was that was wrong. She had a feeling it wasn’t anything to do with Ser Damon, as he was always happy these days, and always speaking about Jeyne with such softness and caring in his voice. Perhaps it was her family. Whatever it was, Roslin was sure it could be sorted. “Thank you,” Jeyne said as she passed her the wine before settling opposite her. Jeyne took a sip, before her eyes rose from the cup. Roslin wondered if she had imagined them lingering on her rounded stomach almost longingly.

“Are you…?” Roslin suggested tentatively, fluttering her hands about her stomach. Jeyne shook her head, taking a long drink from her wine. “Is that the problem?” Roslin asked her, and she visibly saw her take a deep breath. “I’m likely being foolish, winding myself up over nothing. These things take time, don’t they?” Jeyne asked her, an almost desperate look in her eye. “Of course,” Roslin soothed, seeing her blink rather rapidly. “It’s just the tea, you know? It plays on my mind, and I can’t help but think I’ve spoiled my chances at having a child,” Jeyne said in an agonised tone, and Roslin frowned slightly. “Tea?” she repeated.

“Moon tea,” Jeyne elaborated, “from when I…when I…” she trailed off as Roslin nodded, knowing she meant her time with Robb. “The Maester said it isn’t fully known what damage it can do to a woman – inside, I mean,” Jeyne explained, “and just seeing…just seeing that others are being blessed around us…it just serves to plague me more and more. And it’s not just myself, but Damon, what if I have trapped him into a barren marriage? What if we are never blessed?”

“I wish I could promise you something,” Roslin said, “that I could promise you will be just fine, that in time you will be blessed. I cannot promise you such a thing, but I do know that Damon would never resent you. All I ever hear is how proud he is of you, how glad he is that he came to serve in my Queensguard as it ensured that he met you. How he cannot believe his luck that you consented to be his wife. He would be satisfied for it to be just the two of you for the rest of your days, and that is something I am certain of. Have you spoken to him about this?”

“Yes,” Jeyne nodded, “he thinks I am worrying over nothing, that we haven’t really been married that long. I know inside that he’s right, but I just can’t help it needling at me. I hated that tea, I hated forcing down every mouthful, but I knew it was the right thing to do. Now I see you, and Robb, and how happy you are, how much you are looking forward to your baby. And I myself, I’m so happy with Damon, and so content with the lives we are building for ourselves. I want children with him, I want it so much, but even if I can’t I still know I did the right thing. The right thing for all of us.”

“I never knew,” Roslin said quietly, “what you did, with the tea. For Robb, he never told me.” Jeyne smiled wryly at that, taking a sip of her wine. “Why would he?” she said simply, and Roslin shrugged slightly. “I don’t know,” Roslin shook her head, trying to think of something else to say. “Thank you for listening to me,” Jeyne said, draining the last of her wine before standing up. “You don’t have to go yet, not if you don’t want,” Roslin said at once, but she shook her head. “Thank you, really,” Jeyne said meaningfully, “but Damon will be wondering where I am, and you know well enough that Robb will be on tenterhooks.” Roslin rolled her eyes at that, nodding her agreement. “I know well enough,” she said, “but you can come to me again if you like. I know we are hardly best friends, but sometimes it can be easier to talk to someone you are not so close to.” Jeyne nodded at that, placing her empty cup on the side table. “Thank you,” Jeyne said, “I really appreciate that.”

* * *

“Castle Black,” Dacey informed him as the tower began to loom up in the distance, faint lights visible through the fog. “And now the adventure really begins,” Olyvar said wryly, to which she laughed slightly. “I’m not sure that’s exactly what I would call it,” she said darkly, and he nodded his head in agreement. They were drawing closer now, and the sound of clanking gates could be heard just ahead. They rode through after Stannis and his men, Olyvar swallowing hard when he saw the blood-soaked snow. “Could have done with you last night!” a gruff voice barked as men began to dismount from their horses. “Let my mother deal with that,” Dacey muttered, “come on, we need to find Jon.”

“Aye,” Olyvar agreed with her, and they skirted around the edge of the courtyard. Dacey was keeping a keen eye out, and he just followed on after her as he had no idea what Jon Snow looked like. “Oh!” Dacey had rounded the corner only to collide with a large set young man who appeared startled by her appearance. “I am sorry,” he stuttered out, “Sam. Sam Tarly,” he stuck out his hand and Dacey took it, “you’re with the Northern army I see, the direwolf,” Sam pointed out, his voice sounding more than a little nervous. “Are you a man of the Watch?” Dacey asked him, and he nodded his head, almost looking uncertain. “Jon Snow,” she said, “do you know where he is?”

“About to do something very stupid actually,” Sam said, “perhaps you can talk him out of it, because I have had no luck so far.” Olyvar raised his brows at that, as Dacey sighed her agreement and asked Sam to show them to him. He led them inside the keep, up steps and along hallways until they came to a closed door. Sam knocked in an uncertain manner, and northern tones called for them to come in. Dacey took the lead, Sam almost melting back from her as she strode passed him to enter the room. Olyvar offered him a reassuring smile, Dacey intimidated people at the best of times, and Sam seemed more timid that most.

“Jon Snow, it’s been a fair old while,” she greeted as she stamped inside, Olyvar following after her to see a dark haired man about the King’s age turn to face her with his eyes wide in surprise. “Dacey!” he said, a smile lighting up his face, and she moved closer to him with her hand outstretched. “What in the name of the Gods are you doing here?” Jon asked her incredulously. “Here to help your arse, what else?” she asked in return, and he laughed in a rather dazed manner. “Sam says you were about to do something stupid,” Dacey said, “whatever it is, forget it, we brought men to help. The Wall is going nowhere.”

“They attacked last night,” Jon told her, “we managed to hold them off, but there is no way we could survive another assault. Not until you turned up anyway. I was planning on going out, trying to make some kind of peace with Mance Rayder. It’s a long story how I know him, but I thought he might listen to me. I thought maybe something could be arranged.”

“Might be that it can,” Dacey nodded, “and might be he’s more willing to listen to you when you have an army at your back. I have to warn you though, it isn’t just Northmen who’ve come. Stannis is here, on the orders of his red witch. Just…watch your back with him, we all are. Our alliance isn’t likely to last forever, but the queen managed to broker a temporary peace. Anyway, never mind that now, we heard you were injured – what happened?”

“Another long story,” Jon sighed heavily, “but I am well healed now, how’s Robb?” Olyvar could clearly see the concern in his eyes as he asked after his brother. “Getting there,” Dacey said, “they are moving back to Riverrun, and hoping to retake Moat Cailin from there while we deal with this. There are seemingly a hundred different things we need to deal with, and more heaped on us by the day. We have our lives though, at least, and while we still have those we still fight for the North.”

“Aye,” Jon said faintly, “I still can’t believe he’s King.” Dacey laughed slightly at that, and Olyvar’s own mouth twitched up into a smile. “Sometimes, I don’t think he can either,” she said, “did you get the news about Arya?” she asked him, and he nodded his head. “Bran?” she asked almost hopefully, and he shook his head. “Nothing,” he said gloomily, “I was sure I could find him, I’ve been keeping Ghost close, I know he would recognise Bran’s wolf. But there has been nothing, nothing at all. At least Rickon is safe, has there been news of Sansa, after what happened at the Capitol?”

“Rumour is she was smuggled across the Narrow Sea with the Imp, the Gods only know why, but at least she is away from the Capitol. At least if the King marches they will have nothing to hold over him anymore,” Dacey told him, and Jon nodded faintly. “Forgive me,” Dacey continued, “I have yet to introduce you,” she gestured towards Olyvar, “I suppose you are kin of a sort now. Jon, this is Olyvar, he is Robb’s squire and brother to the queen.”

“Good to meet you,” Jon said, outstretching his hand and grasping Olyvar’s for a moment. “And you,” Olyvar returned, inclining his head slightly. “I hear we are both set to be uncle’s,” Jon commented, and Olyvar nodded his head. “A matter of weeks, I believe,” he confirmed, and Jon chuckled slightly. “Honestly, I leave for the Wall and look what happens. My brother becomes King, takes a wife and conquers half of Westeros while I have been freezing to death up here,” Jon said in an amused tone, “and now he is to become a father, I can’t quite believe it.”

“Well, it seems to me like you have seen your fair share of action up here,” Dacey commented, “we really all ought to get some rest. If I know my mother we will be marching out to meet this Mance come morning, and I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m bloody shattered.”

* * *

Sansa had barely managed half a plate of food before she could stomach no more, laying her knife and fork down against the plate and sipping gingerly on her wine instead. Her husband was sat opposite her, and she was determinedly avoiding his gaze. She had been since their union in the gardens, since she had spoken the words and allowed him to cloak her in something plain. It was not the wedding she imagined most kings enjoyed. She imagined that even Robb’s was a grander occasion, and she knew well enough that he would have taken his crown reluctantly. Vaguely she wondered if her brother was happy with his Frey wife. She knew damn well he had only married her to ensure Walder Frey’s cooperation. Perhaps he had grown to love her. They would share a child soon, that news had enraged Joffrey, and he had promised to kill Robb’s wife before she had a chance to birth his child. He couldn’t touch her now though, and Sansa thanked the Gods for it.

“I wish you would look at me,” Aegon finally spoke, and she swallowed hard, lifting her eyes to his. He gazed at her for a long moment before he sighed heavily. “I also wish you would speak to me,” he said heavily, and she took another sip of wine. “What would you like to talk about, your Grace?” she asked him, and he rolled his eyes. “Call me Aegon, please,” he said, and his tone really was almost begging. _He’s trying, at least give him a little something in return._ Younger her was needling at her, and she was irritated at the voice in her head. “Very well, Aegon,” she agreed, though he did not look any happier. “Does it have to be like this?” he asked her quietly.

“You have what you wanted, I’m your wife,” Sansa said, “now why don’t we get this night over with, you will likely want to be up early tomorrow if you want to set sail.” She stood up at the words, her hands at once going to the laces of her dress. Aegon stood abruptly and snatched at her hands to still them. “That’s what you want? To get this night over with?” he asked her, his eyes boring into hers. “I think it’s for the best,” she told him, and he let go of her hands. “I won’t bed you,” he told her, “not when you cannot bear to look at me, not when you will likely flinch away from my touch. Do you think I want to feel as though I am forcing you?”

Sansa had no words for that, her eyes finding the floor. “I want you to at least be willing,” he said irritably, “and I know that it’s hard for you, I understand. That is why I promise you, I will not touch you until you want me to.” The words he uttered reminded her of Tyrion, and she raised her head up again to see his eyes intent on her. “I don’t know you,” she said almost despairingly, and he smiled slightly. “So then ask me. Talk to me. Please, Sansa, this doesn’t have to be difficult. We don’t have to despise each other because of our arrangement,” he said, and she swallowed hard, nodding slightly. “Your mother and father,” he said after a moment of quite, “did they love one another?”

"Yes, yes they did,” Sansa nodded her head vigorously. “And was it a love match?” he asked with a raised brow, and she shook her head. “No,” she said, bowing her head. Aegon came closer and took one of her hands in his, tugging her towards the bed. She went as he wanted, though her heart felt as though it would burst from her chest. “There is no harm in us laying down together,” he said, shrugging out of his doublet before sinking down onto the bed and removing his boots. He shifted onto the far side of the bed then, watching her expectantly. Slowly, she removed her own shoes, before she loosened the laces of her dress slightly and climbed onto the bed. Aegon lay down on his side, facing her, and she hesitantly did the same.

“Tell me about them,” he said, “your family,” he added, moving to take her hand again, playing with her fingers in a manner that soothed her completely. “My mother and father married at Riverrun at the start of the war. When he rode back to her she presented him with Robb,” she told him, not wanting to linger too long on talk of the war. “I came next,” she said, “then Arya,” she couldn’t help but roll her eyes at that, and he smiled slightly. “Do you not get on?” he asked, and she smiled slightly. “We are not the same at all, she is more wolf than girl. Arya would rather be sparring than sewing, whereas I always wanted to be the perfect lady,” she told him.

“Do you look alike?” he asked, and she shook her head. “Arya is a Stark, with dark hair and grey eyes. Like my father. She is the only one who favours him, the rest of us favour my mother, though Robb’s hair is a darker shade than my own. We all have the same blue eyes though. Aside from Jon, of course, but then, we do not share a mother.”

“Who is Jon?” Aegon asked her curiously, still playing with her fingers. “He’s our half-brother, he’s of an age with Robb and he serves at the Wall,” Sansa told him, and he hummed slightly. “Father brought him back after the war, and broke my mother’s heart,” she said sadly. She knew it wasn’t Jon’s fault, but being so close with her mother she could not help but distance herself from him the more they grew. She could see it in her mother’s eyes what it did to her, especially seeing how close he was with Robb and the others. “But still she loved him,” Aegon said quietly, and she nodded her head, tears stinging at her eyes. “Yes she did,” she whispered, “we all did.”

Tears were coming now and she was furious with herself for allowing them. For allowing Aegon to see her weak when she was so determined that he only ever see her strong. “Hush, it’s alright,” he soothed her, shifting slightly closer and taking her uncertainly into his arms. She froze for a moment, unsure whether or not to push him away. “You can cry,” he murmured, “it’s only me here, no one else can see you. Only me, and you can cry with me. You can be weak with me if you need to be.” His words only served to cause more tears to spill from her, and she shifted further into his embrace as he stroked his hand soothingly through her hair. “I just want to go home,” she choked out, clinging to the front of his tunic. “I know,” he said, pressing his lips to her forehead, “and I will get you home. I swear to you, I will get you home.”


	44. XLIV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left kudos!
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter.
> 
> :)

 

“Are you certain you don’t want to see Jeyne, or the Maester?” Robb asked Roslin in concern, and again she shook her head. “Robb, I’ve told you. I’m fine. My back is just stiff from all the travelling that’s all, and the baby is getting heavier by the day. I just want a bath, and my husband to stop fussing over me,” she said pointedly, and he smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I just want everything to be alright, you and the baby more than anything.” Her expression softened at that, and she patted the space next to her where she was perched on the end of the bed. He made his way to her, barely needing the one cane she still insisted he use when they were alone lest he have a fall. Slowly he lowered himself to sit next to her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders and his lips pressing against her temple.

“If you are fussing this much now, I cannot imagine you will be like when it comes time for me to take to my childbed,” she told him, her tone laced with amusement. “Completely helpless no doubt,” he conceded, and she shifted closer to him so she could press her lips to his. “I know you hate being powerless,” she whispered, “and when I am bringing our child into the world I know you will feel just that, but you’re not. Just knowing you’re there, waiting for me. Waiting for _us_ , will bring me more strength than I can explain to you.” Robb wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but he was saved from finding any words by a knock on the door. “Come!” he called out, and it opened in the next moment, serving girls pouring in with water for Roslin’s bath. He rubbed her stomach absently as they went to fill the tub, feeling the baby moving strongly under his touch.

“Prince or princess?” he asked Roslin, “Do you have any idea?” Roslin shook her head in response, her hand coming to lay atop his. “None at all,” she replied, and he smiled slightly, his attention still focused on the nudges against his palm. “Would you be angry if we didn’t have a son?” she asked him, and he could hear the slight tinge of fear in her voice. It had him snapping his eyes to hers at once. “No,” he said firmly, “all I want is for our baby to be born healthy, and for you to be alright. Boy. Girl. It matters not. One day we will have a dozen of them anyway, and even if they are all princesses I will still love you. I could never be angry with you, not for doing this,” he rubbed his hand insistently against her stomach. “I got it easy,” he smiled, “you have had to carry our child, and you will have to birth our child. I will forever be thankful to you for that, I promise.”

“I love you,” she murmured to him, pressing her forehead against his as the serving girls all began to file out again with empty pails. “It’s ready, your Graces,” the last of them curtseyed before leaving, and Robb thanked them distractedly. “Go on,” he urged Roslin, “go and relax for a while.” She smiled in response, pulling back slightly before kissing him once more. Only then did she rise up to her feet and make her way behind the screen to the bath. Robb noted the slowness of her steps, and the way one of her hands was gingerly massaging her back, sighing slightly at the sight. There was nothing he could do to help, he knew that well enough, though he wished he could.

“You would favour Prince Eddard, I assume, for a name, I mean,” Roslin voiced from behind the screen. “I would like that,” he replied, smiling slightly regretfully. When he had imagined having children, he had imagined his father being around. Being a grandfather. “And, Princess...?” Roslin tailed off questioningly, and he frowned. “I hadn’t given it much thought. There are a great many names to choose from, perhaps we could decide it together?” he suggested, hearing the unmistakable sound of her slipping into the water. “I’d like that,” she said, her voice laced with satisfaction. “Is the bath helping?” he asked her hopefully. “Hmm,” she responded, “though I am not sure how in the name of the Gods I am going to get out again.”

* * *

“So, you and Dacey?” Jon leant against the wall next to Olyvar, making him jump. “What?” he snapped slightly defensively, shifting his eyes away from Dacey at once. “I’m not blind,” Jon said, “and, no offence, but it is rather obvious with your eyes following her everywhere. Does Robb know?” Olyvar scowled at that, and Jon chuckled. “No, Roslin thought it best not to tell him, not until everything’s _proper,_ ” Olyvar said in a resigned manner. “Anyway, I thought you were supposed to be helping out in the wildling camp,” he said in a rather accusing manner, to which Jon merely chuckled again. “The provisions have all been sent out, and patrols have been set,” Jon said, and Olyvar nodded.

“They are having a meeting with Stannis later,” Olyvar said quietly, checking about him to make sure that no one was listening in. “About what?” Jon asked curiously, and once again he checked that no one was in earshot. “Lady Mormont has permission from the King to settle the wildlings on the Gift, provided they bend the knee and agree to live under the laws of the North,” Olyvar explained, and Robb nodded. “The trouble is, Stannis is still claiming to be the rightful king of the whole of Westeros,” he continued, “so they don’t think he is going to take very well to it, especially since Dacey thinks he only came here in the first place to try and persuade the wildlings to fight for him.”

Jon snorted at that, rolling his eyes, before he too glanced about. “The wildlings will not fight for him, they will not fight for anyone. They just want shelter behind the Wall from winter and everything it’s bringing with it,” Jon said, and Olyvar swallowed hard. “Walkers?” he almost whispered the word, and Jon nodded his agreement. “Aye, I have seen it with my own eyes, and I am not the only one. I can’t blame them for trying to break through. They didn’t want to bring down the Wall, they only wanted to break into the tunnel and get onto the safe side,” Jon told him, and he frowned slightly. “Then why not just ask for passage?” he questioned.

“For a hundred thousand?” Jon asked, and he grimaced. “They could not have come to us for permission, not when Mance was a deserter. His only hope was to try and fight his way through, and he failed. Though, if Robb really is allowing them to settle on the Gift, then he has won a victory of some sorts. It will only be a few thousand though, most of them fled when we rode out,” Jon continued, and Olyvar nodded his agreement. “The sooner we get them through the better,” Olyvar said seriously, “those left are largely women, children, and the old. If they don’t deserve protection from the walkers then none of us do.”

“Aye,” Jon agreed with him, and Olyvar allowed his eyes to drift back to where Dacey was training with some of the younger men from the Watch. “Can I ask you something?” Jon asked slightly awkwardly. “Go on,” he invited, seeing Jon visibly struggling with his words. “You are Robb’s squire,” Jon said, and Olyvar nodded confirmation. “So, until you came here you must have been with him often, at his side day and night?” Jon questioned him, and Olyvar frowned slightly. “Day perhaps, but he spends his nights with my sister, and I have no desire whatsoever to intrude on that,” Olyvar said, grimacing slightly. “Before he married her though?” Jon pressed, and he frowned.

“What are you asking me?” Olyvar asked him suspiciously. “Did he ever dream?” Jon asked. “Strange dreams I mean, dreams that he felt were more than just imagination?” Olyvar’s frown deepened, he could not recall Robb ever mentioning dreams. He knew he had suffered nightmares after his injuries, but somehow he didn’t think that that is what Jon was referring to. “Not to my knowledge,” Olyvar said slowly, “what exactly do you mean?”

“Nothing,” Jon said, shaking his head, “it’s just the wolves that’s all. Sometimes I feel like I am in their heads. When Robb was injured, I -,” he cut off abruptly, clearly thinking he had already said too much. “You what?” Olyvar asked him curiously, again checking there was no one around. “You can trust me,” Olyvar pressed him, “we are kin after all.” Jon smiled at that, though it looked a little more like a grimace. “I was lying in bed, recovering from my own injuries. I fell asleep, I know I was asleep, but at the same time I know it was real. It was like I was inside Grey Wind. Like I was in his head, and I could feel his pain, and I knew it was Robb’s pain.”

“He howled like nothing I had ever heard before,” Olyvar said uneasily, “he launched himself at Bolton before he could kill Robb, and then he let the men take over. He howled and howled until they came to take Robb into the keep. After that he wouldn’t leave his side, not for longer than a few minutes, even when he started to recover.”

“There is something,” Jon said, looking as though he were struggling for the right words. “There is something connecting us all, through the wolves. I know it. Are you certain Robb has never said anything? Anything at all?” Olyvar could only shake his head at that, he could think of nothing. “I can feel the connection between five of us, one is gone. Sansa, I think?” Jon looked at him again, as though for guidance. “Lady Sansa’s wolf is dead,” Olyvar said, “and Lady Arya’s lost. Jon…I don’t think Robb has these dreams the way you do, if he did he would have known that Lord Bran and Lord Rickon were alive when it was believed that they were dead.”

“Arya?” Jon asked him almost desperately. “I don’t know Jon, maybe,” Olyvar shrugged his shoulders, and Jon nodded in a defeated manner. “Thank you,” he said dully, and Olyvar moved his hand to his shoulder. “Listen, Robb might not have the dreams, but I believe you when you say there is something between you and the wolves. Grey Wind always knows when there is danger, he saved Roslin from being murdered by some assassin from the Lannisters. He knew she was in danger before any of us heard her screams. Grey Wind knew, somehow he knew, perhaps because of her connection to Robb, I don’t know. But he knew, and he knew about Bolton as well. No one else could have reached Robb in time. There is something special about them, I have no doubt whatsoever about that.”

* * *

Sansa stumbled slightly as the boat seemed to sway ever more violently. Thankfully the motion did not make her feel sick, as it seemed to make many of the men aboard with them. In truth it usually helped her fall asleep, though tonight it was rather rough, and she was more than a little worried about being caught up in a storm. Aegon had gone above deck to speak with the Captain. She knew he was more worried than he was letting on, knowing that if a storm blew them off course, or worse, that his carefully laid plans would be in tatters. She tried not to think the worst as she unlaced her dress and hurriedly stepped out of it, kicking her shoes away before she picked up the dress and lay it atop her open trunk in the corner of the cabin.

It was all she had in the world. Just one trunk of clothes that Aegon had summoned the seamstress to make for her before they set sail. Without his thoughtfulness she would only have had the dress she travelled to Pentos in, and the blue silks that Illyrio had gifted her with. She shuddered slightly, seeing the lamp swinging precariously from the beams. Lack of clothing would be the least of her troubles if this storm got any worse. She reached her hand out to snatch up her robe, but the cabin door creaked open before she could wrap it around her. “Sorry,” Aegon averted his eyes at once, “I should have knocked, I didn’t think.”

“It’s fine,” she said, tying the robe about her waist, “you are my husband, and this is _our_ space.” He smiled slightly, steadying himself against the wall as they rolled over yet another wave. “I know,” he agreed with her, “but just because we’re married it doesn’t mean you have lost your right to privacy.” He sounded so sincerely sorry and serious that it made Sansa feel incredibly guilty. “Aegon, you forgot to knock, it isn’t the end of the world,” she rolled his eyes at him, and he grinned. She could see the relief in her eyes, and it instantly eased the bubble of guilt in the pit of her stomach. “What did the captain say?” she asked him, skirting carefully around on the rocking floor until she finally reached the relative safety of the bed. “He said it isn’t an unusually big storm, and that he imagines we will have sailed out of it by dawn,” Aegon told her, and she nodded her head, averting her eyes as he began to remove his doublet.

He had still made no move to bed her, even though they shared the same cabin night after night. It was a tiny space, just enough room for the two of them to squeeze together. Aegon was mindful of his hands, she could tell from the way he arranged himself next to her. Sometimes she wished he would hold her the way he had that first night, but anytime she tried to pluck up the courage to ask him the words would stick in her throat. If she could not even summon up the words to ask him to hold her, how was she ever supposed to ask him to bed her? She shuddered slightly. “Are you cold?” Aegon asked her in concern, and she jumped slightly at the unexpected question. “A little,” she lied.

“Then get yourself under the covers, do not think you have to wait on my account,” he told her, trying to balance himself well enough to get his boots off. Sansa crawled under the furs as he gave up, planting himself on the edge of the bed and tugging them off. Across the cabin they went, Aegon swinging his legs up onto the bed before shifting himself to her side. She pulled the furs out of the way for him to climb beneath them, and Sansa held her breath as she always did. He wriggled around for a moment, presumably to get himself comfortable, before he turned his head to look at her. “How long until we arrive?” she asked him quietly. “Three, maybe four days,” he answered her, and she swallowed hard.

Three or four days until they would land and send word to Robb. Aegon had told her that he was believed to have left the Rock, marching his army back in the direction of Riverrun. They were planning to sail to Maidenpool. The Riverlands were under Robb’s rule as well, and Aegon was hoping that her presence would make for a peaceful settling. They would not stay long, only until they had word from Robb. Gods. Sansa hoped that he would believe her letter, that he would not think it a trap. That he would not just leave her. That he would not be angry with her for what she had done. “Sansa?” she blinked, seeing Aegon looking down on her in concern. “What is it?” he asked her softly.

“He’ll understand, won’t he? Robb? He will understand why I did it, why I married you?” she asked him, desperate for his reassurance. “The man who would have paid all the gold in the Westerlands for you?” he raised a brow, a half smirk on his face. “Of course he will,” he soothed her, and she nodded her head, trying to believe him. “And if he doesn’t, well, then you will simply have to remind him that he married his wife in payment for a bridge,” his smiled widened, “at least you got a boat ride out of it, and a new trunk of clothes.” She couldn’t help but choke out a laugh at that, and Aegon’s hand came to brush a lock of her hair back from her face. “That’s better,” he said, his eyes intent on hers.

“Thank you,” she whispered, hesitating slightly before she moved her hand up to take his, lacing their fingers together. Their entwined hands lay there next to her head, and she swallowed hard as Aegon leaned down closer. She didn’t move away, or speak out to stop him as he came to hover just a mere inch from her lips. “Can I?” he whispered, and she could feel his warm breath on her lips. Her head seemed to nod of its own accord, and in the blink of an eye his lips were pressed to hers. He allowed them to linger, before he pulled back, hesitating a moment before he moved back in to kiss her again. His lips were more insistent this time, and Sansa felt herself wanting to comply with his desires, allowing her own lips to part slightly and grant him entrance to her mouth. It took her a little time to understand how to move herself in time with him, but eventually she seemed to work out the rhythm.

It was a tender, slow kiss he was bestowing on her, and she could not deny that she enjoyed it. Her heart was beating more quickly than before, and the feeling of his thumb brushing against the back of her hand made her skin tingle delightfully. Aegon shifted slightly above her, not breaking their kiss as he moved himself closer to her. Before Sansa could think she was moving her legs apart, and he was nestling between them, his free hand coming to tangle in her hair as he deepened their kiss. She couldn’t help but arch towards him, feeling his warm body press against hers as his kiss made her feel as though she were melting. His hand tightened in her hair in the next moment, and she froze in an instant. Another second had him pulling back, looking down on her in concern.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped out, “I don’t know why, I…I’m sorry,” she shook her head, tears stinging at her eyes. “It’s alright,” he said, his own breathing ragged and his eyes darker than usual. “No it isn’t,” she shook her head, “you’re my husband, and you are already being so patient with me. I shouldn’t have…I mean, I didn’t mean to…” He hushed her, leaning down and pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. “You’re not ready,” he said simply, “I didn’t set a time limit. We can take things as slowly as you desire, I am happy to go at your pace.”

“It’s not that I don’t want…” she trailed off, raising her brows meaningfully, to which he nodded his understanding. “I want to be able to let go with you, to relax. For a moment there I did, and it felt good. But then…I don’t know. I just don’t know what happened, I tensed before I could stop myself. I don’t _want_ to be like this Aegon, I don’t. I don’t want us to be like this. I want to be a proper wife, to try and be happy like you said. I -”

“Sansa, I don’t need to bed you to be happy with you,” he cut her off, “don’t get me wrong, I will be happy to be with you entirely when you’re ready, you’re a beautiful woman and I have desires. But I want to bed a wife who wants me, not one who thinks she must. If for now all you want is my kiss, or my embrace, then you can have it. You can have whatever you want, whenever you want it. Our time together can be spent getting to know one another better, there is still so much you can tell me about Westeros, about the North. Whatever you want.”

“You are just like I imagined Joffrey would be,” she told him, and he grimaced. “No,” she shook her head, “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, you are as I hoped he would be, what I wanted him to be. You are like the gallant and courteous men from the old stories that I would delude myself into imagining he would be. He wasn’t really like that though, he never was. He was always false. I could see it in his eyes though I chose to ignore it. I can see it in your eyes though, I can see it in your eyes that you are very real.”

* * *

Catelyn stood out on the balcony overlooking the river. She remembered so many moons ago, being out here trying to convince Robb that he was doing the right thing in marrying Roslin. The last two times she had been here at Riverrun had been an upheaval of emotions. Her father’s passing. Edmure’s wedding. Robb’s wedding. Arya’s return. Hearing of Robb’s betrayal at Bolton hands. Joy mingled with fear and sadness. She prayed that this occasion would not end the same way. Roslin would have the baby soon, she could only hope that the occasion would be one of immense joy, and that nothing would taint it. The thought of anything going wrong chilled her. The thought of what it would do to Robb. She closed her eyes and determined not to think of it.

Roslin was a slight woman, but she was also a gutsy and determined woman. She had fought off a grown man who had been determined to kill her. She had remained strong throughout Robb’s recovery and taken charge of his kingdoms single-handedly. Childbirth would be easy for her. Catelyn believed that. She had to believe that. Why she was even thinking the worst was beyond her. Perhaps because being here at Riverrun always brought back the faint memories of her mother. She remembered some parts of her so well, happy snippets from her childhood. Her lingering memory was of her father coming to her and Lysa, her most prominent memory of childhood was him telling her their mother had gone. Died giving birth to a son that she had been so desperate for, for so many years.

Catelyn still remembered her still, pale face, and how tightly her father held her hand as the barge bearing her body had been pushed out into the river. She took a deep breath and tried to escape her bleak thoughts, trying to forget how the river made her remember the bodies of her mother and her father floating away from her. She could not bear it again, especially not after Ned. She could not bear the thought of someone else she loved being sent down the river, or buried in cold crypts. She would not survive it. Not after believing Bran and Rickon to be gone. Not after almost losing Robb. Gods, she needed them back. She needed them all back so she could at least try and conjure up her strength again. Robb still believed her to be that same tower of strength, Arya too. They could not know that she crumbled a little bit more each day.

Rickon was all on his own at Last Hearth, he would have grown so much since she last laid eyes on him. She wondered if he could ever forgive her for leaving him and Bran to go through such an atrocious ordeal. And Bran. She closed her eyes in despair. If only she knew where he was, the most vulnerable of her children. He had once been the most boisterous, and the Maester had always described him as robust. Likely that was why he had survived in the first place, and yet now he was out in the wilds, and all they had was Rickon’s word that he was trying to get to the Wall. What if Rickon was wrong? He was a small child, what if he had got it wrong? What if Bran were elsewhere as Sansa was? Gods. Sansa. What she wouldn’t give for one word. One clue. About either of them. Both of them. She needed something before her faith deserted her completely. She needed it, and she needed it soon.


	45. XLV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter!
> 
> Thank you to all of those who left kudos, and to Kittycombs for the comment, I admire your loyalty to the Starks ;)
> 
> Hope you all enjoy the new chapter!

 

* * *

Robb walked slowly but purposefully out of the keep, Roslin, his mother and Arya following behind him. Today was the day. Today was the day he was finally strong enough to take Bolton’s head. He took a deep breath, his eyes flickering to where his remaining faithful lords were stood waiting. The Mormonts and the Karstarks were missing, having been sent to lead men to the Wall, and keep order in the Westerlands respectively. He had been torn between who to leave behind at the Rock, loath to choose between Lord Karstark and the Greatjon. Both were like family to him, his most respected generals and his most fierce supporters. In the end he had decided to take the Greatjon with him, the man was hungry for battle again, and Robb was sure he would relish the chance to retake Moat Cailin from the Ironborn. He would march soon, likely at the end of the week once all the men had had a sufficient time to rest, and a proper plan of action formed.

He came to a halt twenty feet opposite his lords, at the side of the block where Roose Bolton would soon lay his head. As one they moved, dropping to the floor on one knee and bowing their heads. Robb swallowed hard. He had not been expecting that, and he was beyond touched at the action. If ever there was a day he needed to know how loyal they were it was today. Despite everything he still trusted them all implicitly. Perhaps that was foolish of him, but he could not help but believe that none of them could ever betray him the way Bolton had. He had never been comfortable around Bolton, and if he could go back then he never would have given him command of the second wave of men taking the Rock. Still, if he hadn’t given him command then he may never have rooted out his treasonous plot.

Bolton may have struck him in his chambers at night when he was unarmed and unarmoured. When he was with Roslin. He shuddered slightly, shaking his head to clear it. As he did so his lords slowly rose back up to their own two feet, and he met each and every one of their eyes before he spoke. “Thank you, my lords,” he murmured, “truly, thank you all for your loyalty.” They all inclined their heads to him, but none opened their mouths to speak as everyone’s attention was now drawn towards where Bolton was being hauled along in chains. Robb took a deep breath, glancing towards the Smalljon who had the great-sword he would use ready in his hands. He looked back to Bolton, barely recognising the ragged man. The eyes were the same though, he recognised them all too well.

Slowly he took a few steps back from the block, inclining his head to the Smalljon as he did so. Roslin moved to his side as Bolton was brought to a halt in front of them, her hand coming to rest on the back of his arm. He glance at her, clad in a light grey dress slashed with white, with a dark grey cloak about her shoulders which she had fastened with a direwolf clasp. Her crown sat effortlessly on her dark head. She was making a point with her attire, and Robb loved her for it. Her eyes were fixed on Bolton, an anger in them that he had never seen before. If he were Roose Bolton then he knew he would have collapsed down before her and begged her forgiveness. As it was, Bolton seemed unable to stand her gaze, his eyes fixed firmly on the flagstones of the courtyard.

Robb took a moment to compose himself, before he reached his arm out and beckoned for the sword. “Have him face the lords,” he instructed the guards who held him, “he can look into the eyes of the North before I send him to his fate.” The guards bowed their heads in agreement, moving Bolton until he was stood in front of the block, facing the lords. “You betrayed the North,” the Greatjon growled. “You betrayed your vows to your liege lord,” Lord Flint added, to murmurs of agreement. “You betrayed our King and all we are fighting for,” Lord Cerwyn said venomously. “We cast you out, you and your name. You are no Northman. The North deserves better,” the Greatjon finished off, the other lords nodding their agreement with hard eyes and determined expressions.

“Lord Bolton,” Robb spoke, taking the sword from the Smalljon, “you come here to die for your treasons against your king, and against the country you swore your allegiance to. With your death comes the end of your line, and the end of your treachery. May the Gods have mercy on your soul, if you have any final words, speak them now.” Bolton said nothing, Robb wondered if he dared not what with having the eyes of the lords staring at him as though they would rip him to pieces with their bare hands. Instead he sank slowly to his knees in front of the block, and Robb approached, refusing to look at his wife or family before he did so. Seeing them would soften him, and right now he needed to be as strong as the steel he held in his hands.

“I, Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell, King in the North and of the Trident, and protector of its peoples, sentence you to die,” Robb said clearly, and Bolton lay his head down on the block without a single /murmur of protest. With that Robb took a deep breath, grasping the sword in his hands and planting his feet firmly. He counted three beats of his heart before he swung the sword above his head and brought it slashing down to cut through Bolton’s neck. It was a clean blow, his head rolling towards the feet of the lords. None of them stepped back. None of them said a word. No one cheered. The only sound was a howl ripping through the air. Grey Wind. It was not a howl of anguish, but one of triumph, and Robb appreciated his sentiments.

“Bury his body outside the walls,” Robb instructed calmly, “and stick his head on a spike.” Agreements followed his words and he nodded curtly, handing the dripping red great-sword back to the Smalljon before he approached his family. None of them seemed to have words for him, not even Arya who was just staring in a slightly awestruck manner. He managed a faint smile and a nod for his mother before he placed his arm around Roslin’s shoulders and steered her back towards the keep. It would have been preferable for him to have had her stay away, but she had been adamant and he never could refuse her. Thankfully she seemed perfectly at ease, her own arm slipping around his waist as they climbed back up the steps. Robb refused to look back. It was over now. Done with. Now all he had to do was take back his lands from the traitor’s bastard.

* * *

“This doesn’t look promising,” Aegon said drily as they approached the walls of Maidenpool. Sansa could only agree with him, seeing the tattered banners fluttering atop them, and the smell of death and decay lingering in the air. “Best we make camp outside the walls,” Jon Connington commented, “there is no telling what outlaws may reside behind them now.” Aegon nodded his agreement, kicking his horse into motion again. Sansa followed his lead, as did the eight thousand largely unmounted Golden Company that had survived the voyage across the Narrow Sea. They had lost four ships in the storm, which was apparently worse than the captain had made out to them. Thankfully they had not been blown off course, though looking up at Maidenpool, perhaps it would have been no bad thing if they had been.

Aegon led them a fair way from Maidenpool, stopping within sight of the decimated settlement, but far enough away that the scent of death no longer hung in the air. “We make camp here,” Aegon said, “I want a strong perimeter, and a watchful guard. I don’t want any surprises, we stay here until we get word from Robb Stark.” No one disagreed with him, all moving to begin doing as he bid them. He dismounted his horse, coming to Sansa’s side and helping her down from her own. A squire came forward to take the reins and lead them away, and Sansa hesitated a moment before she lay her hand on Aegon’s arm. “Will you write to Robb?” she asked him tentatively, and he shook his head. “I think it best that word comes from you, if he recognises your hand then he will know that I am not lying about you being here, at least,” Aegon said, and she bit down on her lip slightly, wondering what in the name of the Gods Robb would think on receiving her letter.

“Whatever you think is best,” she said faintly, and Aegon slipped his arm away from hers, wrapping it around her shoulder instead and nestling her against his side. She was fairly surprised at such an open display of affection, but she made no protest, her body relaxing against his as they waited for their tent to be erected. “How far is Riverrun from here?” Sansa asked him after a long moment of silence. “Jon says it is a week,” Aegon answered her, and she nodded her head. It would take a few days for a raven to reach Robb, and a few days for his answering one to return – should he send one. She had to believe that he would. How could he not? All in all it could be less than two weeks before she saw her family again, before she found herself back in her mother’s arms.

“Come,” Aegon said, “it seems our tent is ready.” She expected him to take his arm from around her shoulders and offer it back to her but he didn’t. He kept it wrapped around her as they walked, and she tentatively moved her own arm around his waist, settling her hand lightly on the small of his back. They only broke apart when they reached the tent, Aegon pulling back the entrance and allowing her to go in first. She walked in as he bid, turning to face him when she heard the canvas drop back into place. In a moment his arms were around her and she clung tightly to him. “I know you’re worried about how he will take it,” he murmured, “just be honest in your letter, I won’t dictate it to you, all I am asking is that you urge him to at least meet with me.”

“I will,” she promised him, burying her head in his chest and trying to calm her rising nerves. “Do you want me to leave you in peace for a while?” he asked. “I can go and get us some food and wine, if you’d like?” he suggested, and she nodded her head. While she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to be alone or not, she could not deny that she was hungry. “Don’t be long,” she said as they broke apart, and he smiled slightly at her. “I won’t,” he said, hesitating for a moment before he pressed his lips to her cheek. They lingered for a time and Sansa turned her head slightly towards him, hoping that he would understand the gesture. He seemed to, moving to press a kiss to her lips. Again they lingered, and Sansa lost her thoughts for a moment. Aegon smiled widely at her when he pulled away, and she smiled back as he made his way back out of the tent.

Once alone she sighed heavily, her eyes finding the desk and chair, with parchment, ink and quills already laid out for her. Gods. How was she supposed to do this? How was she supposed to explain everything to Robb with one simple letter? One light piece of parchment that a raven could easily carry. Gods. She closed her eyes despairingly for a moment before she opened them again, crossing to the desk and easing herself into the chair. Drawing on all her strength she picked up one of the quills and dipped it in the ink. She remembered back to so long ago when she had last written to Robb, telling him that their father was a traitor. The queen had dripped the words into her ear then, and she had written them because she had been desperate to hold on to her delusional vision of the future with Joffrey.

She shook her head. It was different this time. Aegon wasn’t forcing her, or dripping poison in her ear. If she asked him to she was certain he would write this letter himself. He was right though, it would be better coming from her. Written in her hand. She just hoped that Robb would believe the words. He hadn’t last time. He hadn’t been fooled by her then, he had ignored her words and marched against the Lannisters. She had been glad of it then, but not this time. This time her brother had to believe her, because this time she would be telling the truth. Perhaps it would just be best that she wrote it without thinking too much about it. If she just wrote him the truth as it was without dressing it up with courtesies and exaggerations. Then surely her brother would recognise the sincerity of her words. Surely? She shook her head. It was the only way, she leant over the desk and put her quill to the parchment.

_Dear Robb,_

_It has been too long, too long since I saw you. Any of you. I don’t know how much you know of what has happened, though surely you know about Joffrey and Tywin by now. I am safe. Varys smuggled myself and Tyrion to Pentos. I am no longer bound in marriage to him, but I did consent to giving my hand to another. Please don’t be angry with me, I did it to get home, and now I am back in Westeros, near Maidenpool. We have dared not enter the walls for the scent of death is everywhere._

_My husband wants to meet you, to treat with you. You see, he has a claim to the Iron Throne, but not the men to take it. Please do not think me mad. He is Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar, and though I thought him false at first I cannot deny his appearance. False or not, he is good, Robb. I know it. He is a good man, and he will make a good king given the opportunity. He is nothing like Joffrey, nothing like any of them. He treats me with respect, as a lady ought to be treated._

_These words are mine Robb, I beg you as my brother to recognise that. Please, please consent to a meeting. I need to see you again, I need to see mother again, I cannot bear being apart from you much longer. Please allow us to meet with you in peace, I swear to you that this is not a falsehood nor a trick. Aegon has not the men to take you, he only has eight thousand of the Golden Company, I promise you he only wants to treat. Please, for me if nothing else._

_I miss you all so much,_

_Sansa_

She took a long, deep breath as she lay down the quill, feeling a slight breeze against her back which told her Aegon had returned. She turned in her seat to confirm her suspicions, seeing him setting a flagon of wine and two cups down on the table. He looked up then, smiling when he saw her already looking at him. “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said, and she shook her head. “You didn’t, I have written it,” she said, “I don’t know if I have said everything, or if I have said it all right but…if I thought any more about it then I never would have got the words down.”

“I’m sure it’s more than adequate,” Aegon said smoothly, pouring wine into both of the cups. “It will need sealing,” Sansa told him, running her fingertips gently along the words and feeling them perfectly dry. “Jon has that, one that belonged to my father,” he told her, and she swallowed hard, wondering what Robb would make of receiving a letter stamped with the Targaryen sigil. “Do you not want to read it?” she asked him, turning back to look at him again. “I trust you,” he said simply, and she swallowed hard. “Do you?” she asked him, and he smiled widely. “You are a Stark, and they are famed for their honour. How could I not?” he asked in a teasing tone, and she couldn’t help but smile. “Now come here and sit with me,” he said, taking a place at the table, “they will be bringing us something to eat in a moment and we really ought to drink to our safe arrival.”

* * *

Roslin shifted slightly in her chair, trying to ignore the discomfort that she was feeling due to the baby. There were only a few weeks left now, and she seemed to grow more and more uncomfortable by the day. This evening was the worst so far, but she had decided to put a brave face on it because it was a great feast being held for the men who would be departing for Moat Cailin come morning. Everyone was in a joyous mood. There had been good news from the Wall to celebrate as well, and everyone seemed certain that the North would soon be back entirely under Robb’s control. Robb himself was in good cheer, he had been ever since Bolton’s execution, and since that morning he had not used a cane once to aid him. He was still cautious of stairs, but for the most part he walked about the place as he always had.

Yesterday he had even gone out into the tiltyard to take part in some light sparring with Arya and the Smalljon. Roslin had watched him from the window, and she had been prouder of him than she had the words to express. She glanced to her left to see him laughing heartily with his uncle, who was sat on his other side, the sight making her smile despite the uncomfortable twinges in her stomach. “Are you alright?” Catelyn asked her in concern from her right side. “I expect you know how it is,” Roslin said heavily, “towards the end when you can no longer see your feet and every step takes so much effort. The baby has no room left and everything just _aches._ ”

“Yes,” Catelyn nodded, a knowing smile on her face, “I know well enough, believe me you never forget. This is the worst part, but it will be all over soon and you will realise it was all worth it.” Roslin smiled at that, though it soon turned to a grimace, and she inhaled sharply as the baby jabbed her ribs. “Ribs?” Catelyn asked her sympathetically, and Roslin nodded her head, rubbing at the spot where it had kicked her. “I’m sure Robb won’t mind if you retire a little earlier,” her good-mother suggested. “No,” she shook her head, “he will only think something is wrong, and besides, the baby is going to make me uncomfortable no matter where I am.”

“True enough,” Catelyn said with a slight roll of her eyes before she turned her attention to refilling her wine cup. Roslin smoothed her hands over her stomach absently, feeling another slight twinge as she did so, followed by another jab in the ribs. “By the Gods,” she muttered under her breath. “Roslin?” Robb’s concerned voice sounded, and she turned her head to the side to see him looking at her in concern. “I don’t know what your son or daughter is doing in there,” she said, “but I wish they would stop it. I will end up with a cracked rib at this rate.” Robb chuckled slightly at that, though she could still see the underlying concern in his eyes. “Not long now,” he said soothingly, and she managed a smile. “Not long now,” she agreed, as another twinge almost made her gasp.

Before she could voice any concern Edmure was rising up to his feet at Robb’s side and calling for the attention of the hall. She looked towards him expectantly, her hand finding Robb’s as she did so, needing his comforting touch as she felt so incredibly uncomfortable. That last twinge had been almost painful, and she was starting to feel a little fearful herself now. “My lords, ladies, gentlemen, good men and women of the North and the Riverlands,” Edmure began, “while we will soon be parting company, my lady wife and I would like to share some news with you, before you leave. Alys?” he offered his hand to her and she took it, rising up to his side with a faint blush on her cheeks.

“Lady Tully and I are delighted to announce that we are expecting an heir for Riverrun,” Edmure announced, the cheering that followed accompanied the biggest twinge yet for Roslin. This time it could definitely be described as painful, her free hand coming to clutch her stomach as her other clenched tightly about Robb’s. “Roslin?” he was almost panicked now, as she took in deep, shuddering breaths. “Roslin, what is it?” he asked her almost desperately. “I don’t know,” she shook her head, “it doesn’t feel right, it hurts.” She knew her own voice was laced with fear, as Robb looked passed her towards his mother.

Before he could say anything she let out a little cry of surprise, feeling wetness between her thighs, looking down to see her skirts damp, feeling what she hoped was water trickling down her legs. “Mother?!” Robb was definitely panicked now, and Catelyn snapped her attention from her brother to them, her eyes widening. “The baby,” she said at once, almost flying up from her chair. “Edmure, get the Maester, Roslin is in labour,” Catelyn said calmly, as Roslin took in a deep breath, feeling another, sharper pain stab through her stomach. “But…it’s too soon…it isn’t supposed to be yet,” Robb was stammering out beside her as she concentrated very hard on not crying out in pain and drawing the attention of everyone in the hall.

“A few weeks early will do no harm,” Catelyn said briskly, “come now, we need to get her out of here. This is going to be hard enough without all these eyes staring at her.” Roslin thanked the Gods over and over for her good-mother’s calm head, a tiny whimper leaving her as more pain came. “Robb!” Catelyn clapped her hands together. “Now, please, unless you want Roslin to suffer the indignity of birthing your heir in front of all your feasting men!”

“Right,” Robb’s voice was rather dazed, his hand slipping from hers as he rose up from his chair. “Can you stand?” Catelyn asked her calmly, and Roslin nodded her head, breathing deeply through the pain. “Come now, come on,” her good-mother urged her gently, taking her hands as Robb’s own came under her arms to help her to her feet. Her steps were slightly shaky and in the next moment she almost collapsed against Robb as pain shot through her once more. “Oh Gods,” she whimpered, “it will be alright won’t it? Robb, please tell me it will be alright!”

“Of course it will,” he soothed her at once, “can someone help me?” he directed elsewhere, and Edmure came to him in a moment. “I’m sorry I ruined your announcement,” Roslin almost moaned at him, seeing how pale his face was. “That is no matter at all, do not even think of it,” Edmure told her at a rush, his eyes darting between her and Robb. “We need to get her to the bedchamber,” Robb said, “would you help support her other side?” Edmure agreed readily, and Roslin clung tightly to both of them, her steps slow as she tried to keep her breathing even. Thankfully they led her along the edge of the hall, though she could still tell that heads were turning towards her, hear the murmurings and the whispers.

She kept her own eyes to the floor, trying to focus on not allowing her knees to buckle from the pain. It would come sharply and then ease for a while, before it came back even more strongly a few minutes later. By the Gods it hurt. It hurt more than she had ever imagined it would. The stairs were the worst, but somehow between them Robb and Edmure managed to half carry, half aid her up them. She made sure she leant most of her weight against Edmure, even though Robb was the one she wanted to lean on the most. He was only just getting better, the last thing she wanted to do was unbalance him and cause any more injury to him. She was sure he was murmuring soothing things to her as they approached their chambers, but they were incoherent to her, her mind fuzzy with the pain.

“Robb, you’ve got her here, now you need to leave her with us,” Catelyn’s voice registered with her one they were inside the chambers. “But -,” Robb began to protest, but he cut off as Roslin cried out, almost bent double with the pain. “I don’t have time to argue with you,” Catelyn said insistently as Robb’s hands came to her to ensure she didn’t collapse to the floor. “Good,” Robb said defiantly, encouraging Roslin towards the bed, where she collapsed down in relief, clutching at her stomach. She vaguely noted that it had been stripped of the covers and furs, and in the next moment she was aware of Catelyn swiftly untying her laces. Her feet were bare in the next moment as someone removed her shoes. “Robb, will you please leave,” Catelyn said firmly, and Roslin assumed it was him who had pulled off her shoes.

In the next moment she heard the door open and close, thinking that it must have been Robb leaving. “No,” she protested, struggling against Catelyn as she pulled her dress down her arms and over her waist. “No, Robb…” Roslin gasped out, and in the next moment he was there, sat on the edge of the bed, his hand finding hers and his other going to smooth her hair back from her face as she panted out. “I’m here,” he told her soothingly, “and you can all protest as much as you want, but I am not going anywhere,” he turned to address his mother, the Maester and Jeyne who must have entered before, before he turned back to her, meeting her eyes. “I am not leaving you to do this alone,” he told her, “I am going to be right here at your side, as you are always at mine.”

 


	46. XLVI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave it with that ending to the last chapter!
> 
> Here's the new one anyway.
> 
> Thank you to junojelli for the comment, hope you enjoy the new chapter!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who left kudos as well, much appreciated!
> 
> :)

* * *

It had been hours and Roslin was still writhing in agony, moaning out in pain every few minutes and begging him to make it stop. Robb wished he could, he wished he could do something more than hold her hand and tell her that it would all be over soon. It was deep into the night, and he was exhausted, but he knew better than to complain, knowing that whatever he was feeling it was nothing compared to what Roslin was going through. Her hand crushed his again and she cried out in pain, Grey Wind whining outside the door and scratching at the wood in response. His wolf was desperate to come in, but Robb was already pushing his luck by being at her side. If he let Grey Wind in he imagined his mother may well have a fit.

“Please make it stop, please,” Roslin begged for what felt like the thousandth time, and he looked desperately at the Maester. The man seemed to hesitate before he went to examine her, and Robb had to remind himself once again that it was necessary. The first time he had done it Robb had wanted to punch him, not happy at all with another man being to intimately acquainted with his wife. His mother had told him in quiet, soothing tones that it was necessary, and that if he could not deal with it then he would have to leave. Robb resolved to deal with it. He couldn’t leave Roslin. Not like this. She had been with him through all his pain and all his struggles, and he was damn well determined to do the same, even if it wasn’t _proper._ “My queen, listen to me,” the Maester drew his attention, “I need you to push for me when you feel the urge, this baby is ready.”

“You can do this Roslin, it’s almost over,” his mother encouraged her from the other side of the bed, and she nodded determinedly, scrabbling against the blankets to try and sit herself higher up. Robb moved to help her, and she grabbed onto his shoulders hard as she pushed for the first time. “That’s it,” the Maester urged her, “keep it up, you can do it my queen.” Roslin clearly grit her teeth, and Robb could have sworn she hissed out a curse in the Maester’s direction. She collapsed forward against him in the next moment, breathing hard against his neck. He decided against saying a word, instead just rubbing his hand soothingly up and down her back as she prepared to push again. Her nails pinched into his shoulders again in the next moment and he tensed as she screamed out into his ear. Gods he could not imagine it. Even the thought made him feel faint.

“The head is born,” the Maester said calmly, “keep it up, once the shoulders are delivered it will soon be over with.” Roslin really did curse at him then, but Robb could only decipher every other word. The Maester seemed unconcerned. “Very good, my queen,” he said vaguely, and Robb tensed himself again as her nails dug in once more. “Oh Gods, it’s going to kill me!” she wailed, and he closed his eyes tight, keeping his hands rubbing up and down her back. “One more push, that is all it will take,” the Maester told her, but she was shaking her head. Her brow was drenched in sweat, and her eyes slightly unfocused as Robb pulled back slightly from her. “You can do this,” he told her firmly, “you can Roslin, I know you can.”

She took in a great shuddering breath at his words, and Robb braced himself for her nails to sink into him once more. Sink in they did, so deep he imagined she may well have drawn blood. This time when she released him though she collapsed back down against the pillows. Robb didn’t know where to look, whether to his wife or towards the loud crying that suddenly filled the room. “You did it,” he said in wonderment, his head spinning as he looked towards her feet to see the Maester wrapping the baby in towels. Jeyne bustled closer with a basin of warm water and even more towels, and Robb blinked stupidly before looking back towards Roslin. She was still breathing hard, and looking utterly exhausted, but she focused on him as he moved closer.

“I did it,” she said in amazement, a smile twitching at her lips. “What is it Robb? Can I hold them?” she asked him, and he pressed a kiss to her clammy forehead before he looked back towards the Maester. “A small, but perfectly formed princess, your Grace,” the Maester informed him, and he laughed out in relief. “Just like her mother,” he managed, before rising shakily to his feet. Jeyne backed away with the basin as he approached the Maester, and he could see his mother helping Roslin prop up against the pillows from the corner of his eye. When he reached the Maester though he only had eyes for the bundle in his arms, all cleaned up and snuggly wrapped in warm blankets. She was whimpering slightly, her eyes scrunched up to the world she had just come into.

“Congratulations,” the Maester murmured, as Robb automatically held his arms out to receive his daughter. His _daughter._ His head spun as he settled her in his arms, gazing down on her in astonishment. A tiny, beautiful little thing, with tiny, delicate features just like her mother. There was a very light sprinkling of hair on her head, but he could already tell that she would be dark like Roslin. Like a Stark. He choked a little on his rising emotions, but before he could succumb to them his mother drew his attention. “Robb, I think Roslin might want to meet her,” she said gently, but pointedly, and he finally looked away from the wonder in his arms. “Of course,” he said stupidly, walking carefully to her side and lowering himself to sit on the edge of the bed again before easing the bundle into Roslin’s waiting arms.

Tears welled in her eyes at once, and Robb could see the shake in her hand as she moved to push the blankets back slightly so she could better see their daughter’s face. “Gods, I have never seen anything more perfect,” she choked out, and Robb moved closer, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pressing a kiss to her temple. “You were so incredible,” he murmured against her skin, “I will never be able to thank you enough for this. For her.” A little sob escaped Roslin then, and he pulled back, gently moving his hand to brush away the few tears that had run down her cheeks. “Thank you for being with me,” she whispered, finally tearing her attention from the baby to him, “I would never have been able to do it without you.”

“You would have,” he countered, “but I was glad to be here, to be with you, and see her come into the world.” Roslin smiled widely, leaning closer for a moment to press her forehead against his. Their daughter interrupted them by making an irritable sound, both of them drawing their attention right to her. “Do you think she might be hungry?” Roslin looked towards his mother for guidance. “She may well be,” his mother smiled, and Robb could see her eyes shining with tears as well. “I hate to intrude,” Jeyne said tentatively, “but it really is best we get the queen cleaned up and settled.” Robb readily agreed, pressing a kiss to Roslin’s forehead before he and his mother stepped back and away from the bed. They retreated to the other side of the room as Jeyne checked over Roslin and the baby.

“Congratulations,” his mother said simply, and Robb folded her into his arms at once. He squeezed his eyes tight shut to stop his build-up of emotions spilling out of him. “I can’t quite believe it,” he murmured to his mother, and she laughed slightly, pulling back from him. “You’re a father,” she said, her eyes bright and shining. “And you’re a grandmother,” he reminded her, for which he received a swat on the arm. “I couldn’t be prouder of you,” she told him, fixing her eyes on his, “for the life you have built with Roslin, and the life you have created together. And that is not to mention everything you have done for our family. Your father would have been proud too, I know he would.” The emotion did come from him then, and he staggered back into his mother’s arms. “Thank you,” he choked out, “thank you mother – for everything.”

* * *

“Stannis won’t like this,” Olyvar said warningly, and Dacey and her mother both fixed him with an identical look which clearly told him to shut up. “Stannis is not our king. We will go Saltspear and aid the Greatjon, but I would have a thousand start marching towards Winterfell. We can march on it from opposite directions then, and take it back from that bastard of Bolton’s. It makes sense, and it means that we can refortify it and send a party to the Dreadfort to start tearing it down. The King will have the majority of his forces in the south should he need them, but the North will once again be firmly in his hands. Stannis can do whatever he pleases, but most of us will take ships down to Saltspear and aid at Moat Cailin, and the rest will march towards Winterfell, and that is the end of it,” Maege Mormont said, “Dacey, what do you want? Ships or a march?”

“I would prefer a march,” Dacey said, and her mother sighed. “I thought you might say that, right, I will divide up the men. You should be more than fine with a thousand. I will take the rest and meet the Greatjon,” Maege said, “what about you, Frey?” Olyvar swallowed hard, doing his best not to glance in Dacey’s direction. “I am not very fond of sea voyages,” he smiled wryly, and Maege Mormont stared at him for a long moment. “I thought you might say that,” she said pointedly, looking between him and Dacey before she stood up and strode from the room. “Does she know?” Olyvar asked Dacey with wide eyes as soon as the door closed behind her mother. “She’s my mother,” she rolled her eyes, “of course she knows.”

“Well, does she approve?” he almost stammered out, and Dacey laughed slightly. “I do not think any mother approves of her daughter taking a lover,” she said, “but I told her you were insistent on marrying me, and she seemed to think you ought to hurry up about it.” Olyvar blinked stupidly at that, and Dacey laughed again. “But…I thought…I thought that you were still considering it,” he gabbled out, and she raised a brow. “Have you changed your mind?” she asked him, and he shook his head vigorously. “No, Gods no! Of course I haven’t. You cannot think that for a moment, I love you Dacey,” he rushed out, and her eyes widened.

“Is that right?” she breathed, blinking rather rapidly. Olyvar swallowed hard, before summoning up the courage to say it again. “Of course it’s right,” he said, “how could I not love you, given how incredible you are.” She smiled widely before biting down gently on her bottom lip and averting her eyes from his. “Are you blushing?” he asked her amusedly, and she slapped his thigh. “No,” she denied it at once, “I just…I just, love you too, I suppose.” He raised his own brows at that, and grinned. “You are blushing!” he said, and she slapped at him again. “Stop teasing me or I will change my mind,” she scolded him, “and if you dare tell any of the men that I blush I will geld you myself.”

“If you geld me you will only be causing harm to the both of us,” Olyvar told her teasingly, moving closer to her and sliding his hand up her thigh. She merely huffed in response, but he nuzzled at her cheek until she eventually gave in and turned her head to kiss him. He had to pull away before his desires ran away from him, his breathing as ragged as hers as he hovered a mere inch from her. “I think we ought to retire for the night,” she said breathlessly, “it’s late after all, and my mother will want us up at first light.” Olyvar hummed his agreement, knowing damn well that they would not be retiring to sleep. “Dacey?” he murmured questioningly. “Hmm?” she responded, meeting his eyes. “When we’re married can I call you wife in front of the men?” he asked, laughing heartily as she slapped at him again. “Gods, I love winding you up,” he chuckled, laughing even harder when she too succumbed to giggles.

* * *

Roslin had never felt as contented in her entire life as she did in this moment. Cradling her new born daughter in her arms as she herself leant back in Robb’s embrace. It was blissful, and she never wanted it to end. Robb was toying with a lock of her hair, twisting it around and around his fingers as she gazed down at their daughter. “Have you decided yet?” he asked her softly, and she bit down on her lower lip. She knew he was referring to a name for their baby, and in truth she had decided. She had decided as soon as she had set eyes on her but she had said nothing, imagining that Robb might have a name of his own in mind. He had told her though that she could name their daughter if she pleased, given everything she had gone through during labour. “What do you think of Bethany? For my mother,” Roslin suggested tentatively.

“Bethany Stark,” Robb spoke the name slowly, and Roslin held her breath. “I like the sound of it,” he breathed, leaning in to kiss her temple, “Princess Bethany Stark it is,” he said proudly, and Roslin could have exploded with happiness. “I never thought such a love was possible,” Roslin said wonderingly, watching Bethany flex her little fingers slightly as she shifted in her sleep. “I will try not to take that personally,” Robb said in an amused tone, and Roslin tore her eyes from her daughter to turn and look up at him. “It’s a different love,” she told him, “she’s part of me. Part of us, you and I are different – if that makes sense.”

“I know,” he leant in and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose, “I feel it too. I just feel like I need to protect her, shield her from all the evils of the world. Though, I suppose it could be argued that I feel that way about you too.” Roslin giggled slightly at that, and he kissed at her lips in response. “I love you both so much, I can scarce believe my heart can take it,” she said when he pulled back, and he smiled at her. “I know,” he breathed, “believe me, I know.” Their moment of sheer bliss was cut short in the next moment by a knock on the door, and Robb huffed irritably, extracting himself carefully from behind her. “Be nice,” Roslin warned him, “likely it’s just the Maester again.”

Robb didn’t respond to her, striding to the door and opening it. “What did I say?” he demanded as soon as it was open. “I am sorry, your Grace, I know you wished not to be disturbed, but I didn’t think it could wait,” a man’s voice stuttered out, and she imagined he was one of the squires at Riverrun. Bethany stirred a little in her arms, and she rocked her slightly while still keeping her ears on Robb’s conversation. “What is it then?” her husband asked irritably, and she rolled her eyes. “A letter your Grace,” the squire answered him. “A letter?” Robb repeated, his voice dangerously low. “It may not seem important your Grace, but, the seal,” the man sounded pleading. “Give it here,” Robb said, and Roslin could only assume he had handed it over.

She distinctly heard the crack of the seal after a long moment, and she kept her eyes trained on Robb’s back, watching as his muscles grew more and more tense by the second. “What…?” she began to ask him, but his fist slammed into the back of the door before she could get any more words out. Roslin flinched, her hold instinctively tightening on her daughter. Robb rarely lost control like this, and he had been in such a joyous mood not minutes before. Bad news must have come, it was the only thing she could think of. Her heart felt like it was pounding in her mouth, and she silently pleaded with the Gods that it was not Olyvar. She didn’t think she would be able to cope if it were. “Robb?” she tried tentatively.

“Fetch my mother now, bring her straight here,” Robb ignored her, addressing the squire, and she took a deep breath. Gods. She was now quietly hopeful that it was not Olyvar, but Robb calling for his mother likely meant it was news of his own missing family. Bad news. She swallowed hard, seeing his fists clenched hard by his sides as he rested his head against the back of the door. Roslin searched for something to say, but Bethany woke before she could, letting out a grizzly cry and waving her fists in the air. That seemed to draw Robb’s attention, and he turned back to look at her as she hushed and rocked their daughter. “What was it?” she asked her husband, as Bethany’s grumbles began to fade. He had just opened his mouth when his mother appeared, and he closed it again, a clear look of anguish on his face.

“What’s happened?” Catelyn asked fearfully, as Robb closed the door and held up the letter. “From Sansa,” he said, and Catelyn audibly gasped. “Sansa? What does she say? Where is she Robb? Is she safe?” her good-mother reeled off the questions but all Roslin could see was Robb’s dark expression. “She’s at Maidenpool,” he said in a monotone, “she is with an army of eight thousand of the Golden Company, and a new husband.” Roslin’s brows shot up into her hairline, and Catelyn seemed to gape like a fish. “New husband?” Roslin found her voice first. “With an army?” Catelyn added. “Who?”

“The seal,” Robb replied, holding out the letter to his mother. Roslin shifted higher against the pillows, trying to catch a glimpse as her good-mother lined the broken seal up. “No,” she shook her head disbelievingly, “that’s impossible…” Roslin craned her neck even more, her movement making Bethany grumble slightly, but she could still not see the seal. “Read it,” Robb said, and she had to bite her tongue. She didn’t even know what the seal was, damn it. “Robb?” she questioned him in hushed tones as his mother read through the letter with an incredulous look on her face. “Targaryen,” he told her darkly, and she frowned. “That’s not possible,” she repeated Catelyn’s sentiments, “how can that be possible?”

“Aegon,” Robb said, and Roslin was confused for a moment before it hit her. “The baby?” she said incredulously, her own grip instinctively tightening on Bethany. “No one recognised the baby,” Catelyn said with a shudder, “Ned told me about it once, there was nothing left of him to recognise.” Roslin’s stomach turned at that, and a nauseated look crossed Robb’s features as his eyes lingered on Bethany for a moment. “Then, he could have been swapped? It could have been a different child?” Roslin asked with a frown.

“No,” Robb shook his head at once, “this is ridiculous, this is just some imposter trying to profit from the wars. That’s all. He is just someone who bears a resemblance to the Targaryens. It can’t be real…it can’t be…” he was pacing then, up and down he went with his hand running desperately through his hair. “Real or not, Sansa has married him,” Catelyn said sharply, “and I want my daughter back, you have to treat with him Robb, you have no other choice.”

“Treat with him?!” Robb snapped. “He will be lucky if I do not clad him in chains and imprison him for what he has done! He forces Sansa to marry him, and then presumes to ask for my help to win a throne he has no right to! Eight thousand is nothing, he will be a fortunate man indeed if I do not take his head for this!” Roslin moved at that, gingerly swinging her legs over the side of the bed and nestling Bethany down in her cradle. She was not supposed to be out of bed properly for a week, but she could see Robb beginning to lose control, and she would not be able to calm him from her bed. “Roslin, you really shouldn’t,” Catelyn warned her, but she didn’t listen, even when Robb turned to face her with a furious expression adorning his features.

“You’re supposed to be abed,” he growled at her, and she grabbed hold of his upper arms in response. “And you are supposed to think rationally, clearly. You are a king, not a child. What did the letter say? What did Sansa say about this man?” Roslin asked him firmly, and he scowled. “She said her husband was a good man, and she begged Robb to recognise her word as her own,” it was Catelyn who answered her. “And does she believe his tale?” she turned to her good-mother, keeping her hands firmly on Robb. “She said she didn’t at first, but now she is not so sure, she certainly cannot deny his appearance,” Catelyn answered her.

“Well she would say that wouldn’t she?! When that is what he is forcing her to write!” Robb hissed angrily, and Roslin snapped her head back to him. “Will you calm down,” she told him through gritted teeth, “you getting angry is no good for anyone. Can you just try and remember that our daughter is present!” His features softened at that, his eyes flickering to the cradle for a moment before they moved back to hers. “Do you believe this? This madness?” he asked her quietly, and she shrugged her shoulders. “I know as much as you,” she answered him, “but one thing we do know is that your sister is with him, married to him. You can’t ignore that, you have to welcome him to Riverrun. You have no other choice.”

“I could just kill him,” he said, and Roslin rolled her eyes, hearing Catelyn’s exasperated sigh behind her. “I think you might want to see your sister and speak with her before you make any rash decisions. She may be happy with him, you cannot just assume that she isn’t,” Roslin implored him, squeezing his arms reassuringly. “She married him to get back to Westeros, she said it herself,” Robb said drily, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “And you married me for a bridge,” she snapped, “it doesn’t mean we can’t love one another.”

“This isn’t about you and me!” he shot back at her. “No, it isn’t,” she agreed, “this is about your sister, and you have been away from her for long enough already. Don’t you think you ought to ask her what she wants instead of assuming? Might be your right, might be that she doesn’t like this _Aegon_ one bit, but what if she does? What then? Will you still clap him in chains and decimate his army?” she arched one brow as she came to the end and he scowled in what she knew to be defeat. “Write back,” she urged him softly, “invite them to Riverrun, it is the only thing you can do.”

“For Sansa, Robb, please,” his mother’s pleading tones added to Roslin’s own, and she could see it in Robb’s eyes that he would give in. “Fine,” he finally growled, “I will write to him, now will you please get back into bed, you know what the Maester said.” Roslin agreed with him, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek before she retreated back to bed, peering into the cradle to make sure Bethany was still settled as she did so. “Robb? What will you do?” she heard Catelyn ask, seeing her hand on Robb’s forearm. “I will get Sansa back to us,” he told her, “and after that, well, after that I have absolutely no idea.”

 


	47. XLVII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter!
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos, and the comment. Much appreciated as always.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one.
> 
> :)

* * *

“Sansa!” she turned just as Aegon pulled back the flap of their tent, his expression a perfect mixture of excitement and apprehension. Before she could ask him what had happened he was extending a letter to her, and she swallowed hard. “Direwolf sigil,” he told her quietly, licking his lips in a nervous manner. She reached out a suddenly trembling hand and took it from him, her fingers slowly tracing over the hard seal. Her breath came slowly and deeply as she took in the familiar sight, her nerves piqued as she realised that Robb’s words were sealed up in this letter. She took another deep breath, her eyes flickering to Aegon to see him nod encouragingly at her. This was it. She snapped the seal, the sound of it echoing almost ominously in her head, unfolding the parchment and moving her eyes to drink in her brother’s words.

Her pounding heart began to steady as she read through his words. She could tell he wasn’t happy, it was written between the lines but not stated outright. Sansa imagined that he would have been more open, though he probably thought that the letter would not only be seen by her eyes. It didn’t matter how suspicious or guarded he was though, he was agreeing to them coming to Riverrun, and promising that they would meet and speak in peace. She felt relief, her other hand coming up to clasp to her mouth when she read the end of the letter. _We love you, and we miss you. We are counting the days._

She choked on a sob, Aegon stepping a tiny bit closer to her and looking at her in concern. “What is it? What does he say?” his tone was almost urgent, his hands coming to rest on her upper arms. “We are welcome at Riverrun, in peace,” she managed to get out, seeing the look of relief flood his expression.

“Thank the Gods,” he almost moaned, and in the next moment she was folded into his arms. She closed her eyes and held him back, thanking the Gods herself over and over in her mind. “Will we leave right away?” she asked Aegon hopefully, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I will go out and tell the men to prepare to leave,” he told her, “I will have to speak with Jon about this. Can I leave you to manage gathering our things?”

“Of course,” she nodded at once, pulling back from him, “the sooner everything is packed away then sooner we can be on our way.” A look that almost looked like regret crossed Aegon’s features then, but it was gone in a flash, leaving Sansa wondering if she had imagined is as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I will be back as soon as I can,” he promised her, and she nodded, leaning up to him so she could touch her lips to his briefly. He looked vaguely surprised at her gesture, and she imagined it was likely because she had never been the first to instigate affection before. His mouth opened and closed a few times, before he seemed to think better of himself, shaking his head and offering her a smile before he pulled back the flap of the tent and disappeared from view again.

Sansa had to resist sinking down onto a chair when he was gone, instead moving to where their two trunks were placed on the ground. Her legs were still shaking slightly as she knelt down to tidy up the contents and close the lids firmly. That was all she really needed to do. They had no other belongings. She swallowed hard as that struck her. Back at Winterfell she had had countless trinkets scattered around her chamber, she had been loath to choose which to take to the Capitol. She wondered if those she had taken would still be there, or if the queen would have had them destroyed. Deciding to ignore the possibility she rose back to her feet and hauled the two trunks outside the tent. One of the Golden Company came towards her on seeing her, bowing deeply. “My queen, can I assist you?”

She blinked stupidly at his address, before she shook her head slightly. “That’s all there is,” she told him, “you can pack the rest away and take down the canvas.” He bowed again at her instruction, and she remembered to stutter out her thanks as he called over another five men to help him. She moved slightly away from where they would soon be dismantling her tent, looking out across the camp to see that everything was in the process of being taken down. The wagons were already almost full, and she could see Jon Connington’s tent being taken down – the occupant standing near-by in conversation with Aegon. She wasn’t sure about her husband’s closest advisor. She was almost certain that he didn’t like her, and he always seemed just slightly dismissive whenever she was around. There was no doubt in her mind that he would like to see Aegon take control of all of Westeros. Robb would never give up the North and the Riverlands though, and Aegon had recognised that.

He had promised her that her brother could keep his crown. He had assured her that should they agree to terms that the pair of them could rule in harmony. They would be bound after all. Bound through her. She wrapped her arms around herself and gazed over to her husband. Jon seemed to be agitated, his hands gesticulating as though in desperation. Aegon seemed unconcerned, shaking his head and waving his own hand dismissively. Jon looked as though he was trying again to get through to him, but Aegon had evidently had enough, raising his hand firmly to stop his advisor talking. Jon did so, though he scowled, and when Aegon looked towards her Jon’s eyes followed his progress and she could have sworn that his eyes narrowed momentarily. It was almost enough to make her shudder, but she pushed away her unease as Aegon began walking towards her.

“Is everything alright?” she asked him when he was close enough to hear her. “Of course,” his smile looked a little forced, and Sansa frowned slightly. “Would you be honest with me?” she dared ask him, and he fixed her with a look for a long moment before sighing heavily. “Jon believes we should push to regain the Riverlands at least, and he would prefer the North be surrendered as well,” Aegon told her awkwardly, and her eyes flickered over to Jon Connington, seeing him already looking in their direction. “And what did you tell him?” she asked, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. “I told him there is no question of it,” he said, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Your brother can keep his crown, as I promised,” he continued, “I think we will have enough to contend with to try and get him to join us, and of course he still controls all the wealth of the west.”

“Will you really recall Tyrion to take the Rock?” Sansa asked curiously, and it was Aegon’s turn to sigh. “If he cleans himself up, Illyrio will keep us informed,” he replied, and she nodded her agreement. Tyrion had managed to stay sober for her wedding day, and she had not smelt wine on his breath when he had kissed her cheeks in farewell the day they had set sail. She hoped he would manage to clean up his act. He would make a good Lord of the Rock, she was certain of that. He had made a good Hand of the King, in her opinion, the queen’s disdain at him having the position proving to her that he must have been doing something right. “Anyway,” Aegon drew her from her thoughts once more, “we ought to get moving. The sooner we leave, the sooner we get to Riverrun.”

* * *

“I hate waiting,” Dacey said irritably, stalking up and down their tent in an irritable fashion. They had made camp on the northern shores of the Long Lake, just waiting for word from Dacey’s mother and the Greatjon. “We can’t march without them,” Olyvar reminded her, “the bastard might not be expecting us, but we need more than a thousand to secure Winterfell.” Dacey stopped her pacing, scowling at him before she dropped heavily down onto the end of the make-shift bed. “I know,” she sighed in defeat, moving her hand up to ease her hair out of its braid. Olyvar smiled at her, about to approach and push her back down into the mattress when there was a call from outside the canvas. It was his turn to sigh irritably, making his way to the entrance and pulling it back. “A letter from Riverrun, my lord,” the man dipped his head, holding out the sealed parchment. Olyvar took it with thanks and retreated back into the tent.

“What is it?” Dacey asked him at once as he moved to break the seal. “Give me a chance,” Olyvar chuckled lightly at her, unfolding the letter. A wide smile stretched across his face at once as he recognised Roslin’s hand and the joyous news she had written. “The North has a healthy princess,” he informed Dacey, his eyes continuing to scan his sister’s words, his smile faltering as he read on. “What?” Dacey sounded worried. “Did something happen? Roslin…is she…?” Olyvar shook his head at once, knowing she was thinking the worst. “No, Roslin’s fine…this is her hand. It isn’t her,” Olyvar continued shaking his head, “it’s news of Lady Sansa.”

“What of her?” Dacey was on her feet now, coming towards him with a concerned expression on her face. “She has had her marriage to the Imp annulled,” Olyvar told her slowly, reading over the last lines of the letter once more, just to make sure he was not seeing things. “Well, that’s good,” Dacey looked confused now, her brow furrowing. “It would be,” he agreed, “had she not already given her hand to another man. A man who is claiming to be Aegon Targaryen.”

“Aegon?” Dacey repeated stupidly, and he nodded his confirmation. “By the Gods, what is the King doing?” she demanded after a moments pause. “Roslin says he has no choice, if he wants to see his sister again then he has to invite this _Aegon_ and his army to treat with him at Riverrun,” he told her, and she exhaled deeply, lowering herself slowly to sit on the edge of the bed again. “Army?” she repeated fearfully, and he was glad that this was one worry of hers he could at least soothe. “Eight thousand, according to Lady Sansa,” he said, and she nodded slowly. “Sell-swords?” she asked him, and he nodded. “Golden Company,” he elaborated, and she laughed almost incredulously. “When I said we needed another option for the Iron Throne, this was the last thing on my mind,” she said, and Olyvar couldn’t help but snort in amusement.

“What do you suppose he will do?” he asked after a moment of quiet, and Dacey looked up to meet his eyes, shrugging her shoulders. “I have no idea,” she said, “I wonder -,” but what she wondered he never heard, because another shout came from outside the canvas. An excitable, almost incredulous shouts. Olyvar tossed the letter from Roslin onto the side table and Dacey jumped up at once, both of them almost falling over one another in their bid to get out of the tent. Once outside it took Olyvar a moment to process exactly what was happening. Dacey however, understood at once. “Lord Bran!” she gasped out incredulously, running towards him. The direwolf at the feet of the giant man who was carrying the King’s missing brother growled slightly at her approach. “No, Summer,” the boy said, “she’s a friend.”

“By the Gods, where have you been?! Hodor, come now, bring Bran into my tent, likely he could use a rest,” Dacey gestured towards where they had just come from. “You must be the Reeds,” she folded her arms across her chest as the man named Hodor shuffled towards where she had indicated. “Yes,” the girl said, her face pale as she looked up to meet Dacey’s eyes. “What were you thinking, taking him off into the wilds like that?! He ought to have remained with Lord Rickon and gone to Last Hearth! We would have known he was safe months ago!” Dacey scolded them. The girl looked faintly ashamed, but the boy did not, fearlessly meeting Dacey’s furious gaze. “Bran’s dreams are green,” he said firmly, “as mine are. They were leading us beyond the Wall, but before we could I dreamt of our father dying. I knew it would soon come to pass, and I knew that it was more important than the three-eyed raven.”

“Three-eyed what?” Dacey almost snapped, shaking her head incredulously. “We went back on ourselves. We stuck to the wilds, the woods and the mountains, all the way back to Greywater Watch,” the boy continued as though Dacey hadn’t interrupted him. “How in the name of the Gods did you manage that without getting caught?” she asked him in amazement, and a small smile twitched his lips. “We had a direwolf with us, and Meera is capable enough,” he told her, and for the first time Dacey’s features relaxed. “And now you’re here, why?” she asked him more softly. “Father gave us a letter, it said we had to give it to Jon Snow. To him and no one else. I know it is important, I dreamt it. Dreams of fire and blood,” he seemed to shudder slightly, “we were going back to the Wall, but then Bran saw your banners through Summer, and we came to you instead.”

“Well you did right there,” Dacey’s tone was almost kindly now, “go on, go and join Bran in my tent. I will order food for you, and then we can see about getting this letter to Jon, and letting the King know that Bran is safe and well.” The Reed children bobbed their heads in response and skirted round Dacey, heading to the tent where Bran had entered. Olyvar watched them out of sight before turning to her, raising his brows expectantly. “Well?” he asked after a moment, and she shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said calmly, “I have heard some of the crannogmen possess greensight. Did you see his eyes? How green they are? Something tells me they are telling the truth, I wonder if the Watch will give Jon permission to take leave. We cannot march back, the others are counting on us, but given the wildling threat is over he may be able to come to us.”

“There is no harm in asking. What do you suppose is so important about this letter?” Olyvar asked her curiously, and she bit down on her bottom lip. “All I know is that Howland Reed was a close friend to the late Lord Stark,” she told him, “that they were the only two who survived the Kingsguard when they went to Dorne to find the Lady Lyanna. I don’t know what he would want with Jon though, if the letter is anything to do with Lord Stark then it ought to be given to the King.”

“You cannot know it is to do with Lord Stark,” Olyvar countered, “if the man’s dying wish was for this letter to find Jon’s hand then we have to honour it. It would be unfair indeed of us to take this letter to the King after those children have travelled countless leagues and risked their lives to collect it and deliver it to Jon. They came here because they trusted us, Dacey, we cannot take the letter from them. Lord Bran is Jon’s brother too, if he has not read the letter, then we most certainly should not.”

“We don’t know what’s in it. What if it is something to do with the war?!” she demanded of him, and he shook his head. “In that case he most definitely would have sent word to the King. Whatever this is, I would wager that it is personal, and that makes it none of our business – unless Jon chooses to share it with us,” he told her firmly, and her shoulders hunched slightly in what he knew to be defeat. “Fine,” she huffed, “but I’m going to tell the King about the letter when I write to him. He would not like something like this kept from him, and if he demands to know the content then I will not hesitate to tell him.”

With that she stalked off back to her tent, and he imagined she would be posing more questions to Bran and the Reeds while she wrote to the King. He sighed heavily. Surely the King would not want to invade his brother’s privacy? He was almost certain that he wouldn’t, and that if he so much as considered it that Roslin would talk him out of it. Olyvar wasn’t sure why, but he had the feeling that this letter was important. Howland Reed was asking a lot of his children to travel all the way to the Wall unguarded to deliver it. Why not just send a raven instead of risking his heirs? No, Olyvar was certain that the content would be of great value to Jon, and he determined to keep Dacey well away from it until the man himself could come down from the Wall and claim it.

* * *

Robb was staring blankly at the wall. He was vaguely aware of the slight gurgles and grunts coming from his daughter’s cradle but he didn’t move. She didn’t sound agitated, and likely Roslin would be back any moment if she did indeed need something. He knew deep down that he ought to be savouring this precious time with his wife and new baby, but it was difficult to focus on anything but that damned letter from Sansa. She would have got his reply by now, and if this _Aegon_ was as desperate as Robb imagined him to be, then they would soon arrive at Riverrun. He had men constantly on the walls looking in the direction they would come from. Nothing yet. Not a flicker on the horizon. It had been over a week since he had sent the reply. It would be any day now, he was almost sure of it.

His mother was so on edge that she had taken to keeping herself to her chambers. That was where Roslin was now, but Robb hadn’t been able to bring himself to join her. There was so much tension in him, and he imagined that the atmosphere would become unbearable should he go and sit with his mother. Instead he had elected to keep an eye on Bethany, and Roslin had seemed placated enough at that. He felt guilty then, rising slowly up to his feet and approaching the cradle. His daughter gurgled more loudly as he appeared above her, pulling her arms free from her blankets and waving them almost furiously. He couldn’t help but smile when he looked down on her, she managed to brighten his day with each passing one bringing about another tiny change in her. Her eyes looked a little different today, the blue slightly more pronounced.

He had wondered whether her eyes would be dark like Roslin’s, as she so favoured her mother, but it had delighted him to see that instead of darkening they seemed to be turning more and more Tully. She was a wonder. Something he was thankful beyond words for. A frustrated noise left her, and she kicked her legs beneath her blankets, her little fists clenching. Robb took the hint, leaning down to scoop her up in his arms and cradle her against his chest. He snatched a blanket up from her cradle, arranging it around her as the door to the chamber opened. Robb didn’t need to turn to know that it was Roslin, but he did anyway, managing a smile for her. “How was my mother?” he asked as she closed the door behind her. “Worried,” Roslin said simply, and he could do nothing but sigh.

“Worried about what exactly Sansa has been through,” his wife elaborated as she moved around to straighten up the cushions on the sofa. “Worried about how you’re going to react to this supposed Targaryen, and how much of Sansa’s letter was her own words and how much was dictated to her,” she continued on. “She thinks you’re going to do something stupid, but I assured her that you wouldn’t. I was right to do that, wasn’t I?” Roslin’s eyes were boring into him as she said the words, but he kept his own trained on the top of Bethany’s soft head. “Robb?” she approached him, and he finally lifted his eyes to meet hers. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, that is the truth of it,” he told her honestly, and she sent him a half smile. “Then may I suggest not doing anything until you have spoken properly with Sansa?” she raised a brow expectantly. “This _Aegon_ character can wait, you need to hear her first, Robb. The rest can wait.”

“I know,” he nodded his agreement, pressing his lips to the top of Bethany’s head and twisting his torso from side to side as she began to grumble. “I know everything is confused right now, but we need to try and stay positive,” Roslin urged him, her hand coming to rub gently up and down their daughter’s back as she quietened. “I know,” he agreed with her again, and she smiled slightly. “I did not expect you to be quite this compliant,” she murmured, “given what you were saying the other day I half imagined that you would have irons waiting for this Targaryen when he arrives.”

“I will,” he said seriously, “whether I use them or not is up to Sansa. I am angry, angry that she has been used like this. And not just by him, but by the Lannisters as well. She isn’t like Arya, she is gentle and meek and she never deserved to get trapped there. If she tells me this man has harmed her, or forced her to do anything against her will then I will kill him, Roslin, and you will not be able to say one word to stop me. I beg you now, do not say a word to stop me.”

“I won’t,” she shook her head, “I will be at your side and support your decision if that is what you have to do.” Her eyes held his fast, and he was satisfied that he at least had her support. “It may surprise you, but I don’t want to kill him,” he murmured against Bethany’s head, and Roslin raised a brow in response. “My sister has been hurt enough,” he continued, “I hope and pray to the Gods that he is treating her like the queen he is insisting she is. She deserves that, after everything she has witnessed, it is the very least she deserves.”

Roslin moved to his side at his words, her hand coming to the small of his back as she rested her head against his upper arm. “You’re a good man, Robb,” she said quietly, and he shifted to press a kiss to the top of her head in response. “You bring out the best in me,” he returned, and she lifted her head to meet his eyes. “You were always a good man,” she said insistently, and he smiled in response. “I can but try,” he returned, and she laughed lightly. “You are a good husband too,” she continued on, to which he rolled his eyes, “and a wonderful father.”

“It’s easy with you two,” he said honestly, “though I sometimes wonder if it would be easier if we were not weighed down with these titles.” Roslin frowned at that, considering him for a moment before she answered. “If you were not a lord, then you would never have had to march to the Twins,” she reminded him, “and if you had never marched you never would have been made king. We would never have had a chance. If you were just a farmer, or a merchant, then you would have married a northern girl from the same town as you. Without these titles we would not be, and I would never wish them away. I am proud to be your queen, Robb, and I always have been.”

Robb was unsure what to say to that, and so he was almost grateful for the knock that came on the door. Roslin moved at once to answer it, and Robb could feel his body tensing of its own accord. “Forgive me, my queen,” he heard their visitor murmur, “but there has been movement sighted on the horizon. I believe Lady Sansa and her…companions, will be here within the hour.”


	48. XLVIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right everyone, I have, after a lot of thought, decided to end this story, and continue it in a sequel. I have many reasons for doing so, but I mainly just think that this is reaching a good cut-off point, and that it will be better continued as a second part. I don't have a name for it yet, but I will let you know when it does. I will also come up with a series name, so that both parts of the story can be found more easily. As yet though, I haven't thought of a name for a series, any suggestions would be welcome.
> 
> As always, I'd just like to say thanks to everyone who has left kudos or commented, it really is much appreciated.
> 
> :)

 

Sansa could barely breathe as they approached Riverrun. Both Tully and Stark banners fluttered from the ramparts, and in the encampment outside where they were joined by the sigils of all the other loyal houses of the North and the Riverlands. She tried not to shudder and shift uncomfortably in her saddle as they picked their way through the camp. Several men were milling about, cooking dinner over the flames as dusk descended further around them. Almost all stopped and stared as they moved passed them, and Sansa swallowed hard, more pleased than ever that she had talked Aegon out of displaying his own banners. His hair was distinguishable even in the fading light though, and she chanced a glance to her right to gauge his mood. He looked stiff. Tense. The way he had been that first time she had come face to face with him.

She looked away from him, closing her eyes in despair for a moment before she opened them again, her eyes now fixed on Riverrun’s rising gates. Aegon had given instruction for the Golden Company to stop and make camp a fair distance from Robb’s own troops, so only a small guard was accompanying them under the metal gates. Her heart was almost pounding in her mouth as they passed under them. Gods. What if Robb hadn’t believed her? What if he was not willing to wait and hear what she had to say? What if he killed Aegon on sight? Her heart and her stomach constricted almost painfully, and without thinking she pulled on her horses reins so it moved to trot closer to Aegon’s. There was a mere inch between them now, and the closeness made her feel slightly more at ease. Her husband turned his head at her movement, and offered her a strained smile which she did her best to return.

The courtyard came upon them almost unbearably quickly, and Sansa’s mouth had never been so dry. She vaguely wondered if any words would even escape her lips. A gasp escaped them when her eyes found the door of the keep. Robb. She noticed him first, standing at the helm of the small party with a heavy bronze crown atop his head. His eyes were fixed on her, his expression unreadable as she forced deep breaths through her lips. It was hard to look away from him, but she managed it as an unknown woman moved closer to him and placed her hand on his arm. She assumed it to be his wife. Roslin Frey. Sansa was shamed at thinking that the woman was far prettier than she had imagined her to be, and she moved her eyes quickly away, searching for her mother. She found her on Robb’s other side, saw the tears streaming down her cheeks.

That did it. At once she pulled on the reins so her horse came to a halt. She didn’t care about formalities or propriety or ensuring that Robb didn’t kill Aegon. She just wanted her mother. She just wanted her mother to hold her. “Sansa?” Aegon’s concerned tone reached her ears but she was already dismounting, slipping from her horse and picking up her skirts before running full pelt towards her mother. The whines and yelps of Grey Wind reached her ears as she approached, but her eyes were all for her mother, who moved from her place just behind Robb, and picked up her own skirts. They met somewhere between the northern welcoming party and the still mounted Targaryen loyalists. Sansa was sobbing even before her mother’s arms were around her, and she staggered into her embrace, almost collapsing against her as she felt the familiar warmth that she had been missing for so long.

Their embrace was so tight that Sansa could barely breathe, and her mother was sobbing just as hard as she was. Vaguely she became aware that there was another presence behind, and somehow she knew it was Aegon. As much as she wanted to remain in her mother’s arms, she knew she had to make sure that they knew that he was no monster. They had to know that they shouldn’t think of him as an enemy. Gathering all her strength she pulled back slightly, enough to meet her mother’s eyes, though her vision was blurred from the tears. “I missed you,” she somehow managed to choke out, and her mother bit down on her lip, nodding furiously. “I hate to intrude,” Aegon said awkwardly from behind her, and Sansa stepped back further, seeing the confused look cross her mother’s face. It changed into something like disbelief when Sansa held her hand out to lace her fingers through Aegon’s. With his hand in hers she summoned up the courage she needed to meet Robb’s eyes once more.

This time he moved. He moved quickly considering the injuries she had heard he had endured. Behind him his wife moved too, and Sansa flickered her eyes to the unknown woman, not missing the fleeting panic that crossed her delicate features. On seeing that she couldn’t help but cringe back slightly, stepping to the side so that her body half shielded Aegon’s, keeping his hand firmly in hers and squeezing so tightly that she imagined she might be hurting him. He made no word of protest though, and she kept her eyes firmly on Robb. He stopped feet away, his eyes dancing with confusion as he looked between her, her husband, and their entwined hands. “All this time,” her brother finally spoke, his tone somehow soft yet gruff at the same time; “would you not greet me properly, sister?”

It took everything not to break down and cry again, the half-smile twitching Robb’s lips just reassuring enough for her to let Aegon’s hand go. She and Robb stepped forwards as one, and he gathered her up into a gentle embrace, his lips finding the top of her head. “Tell me he hasn’t hurt you,” her brother whispered furiously, “tell me he has not hurt you and we can forget all the complications until morning.” She almost laughed in relief, her grip tightening on him for a moment before she answered him. “He never hurt me,” she promised him, “Aegon never hurt me.” He pressed another kiss to the top of her head at that before he pulled back and met her eyes, searching them. “Good,” he finally said after a long moment, his eyes flickering towards Aegon momentarily. “Shall I introduce you?” Sansa asked him shakily, and to her relief he smiled. “Please,” he invited, “I have introductions of my own to make.”

Sansa nodded in response, turning back to call Aegon to her, her eyes landing on Arya as she did so. “Arya?!” she gasped in disbelief, her little sister moving towards her at once. They embraced briefly, but in was enough for Sansa, she could feel it between them that the animosity had gone. Thank the Gods. “I’m sorry I left you,” Arya mumbled when they broke apart. “You had no choice,” Sansa returned, “besides, I am not as well equipped for the wilds as you are.” Arya grinned at that, and Sansa smiled happily in return, their mother bursting into tears at the exchange. “Oh, mother,” Sansa made to step towards her at once. As did Robb, and Arya, and the woman she was almost certain was Robb’s wife. All four of them fussed over her, even Grey Wind approached, whining in apparent concern. “I’m…sorry,” her mother choked out, “all this time, I…I just…I’m sorry…I just wish…wish your father could…could see all…this. He would…be so…so…proud.”

* * *

In the end Sansa hadn’t introduced him to Aegon and the small party of men who had accompanied them into Riverrun itself. They had been too concerned with calming their mother and getting her settled. Robb had instructed the squires to take care of Sansa’s party, and asked that they be shown to one of the parlours on the upper floors. He had seen the fleeting look that Sansa had sent to the man she had married, and he had not missed the intensity of his returning gaze. Robb wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Glad, he supposed he ought to feel glad, that she had not been harmed by him, because he believed that. Gods. He ran his hand through his hair as he watched Sansa and their mother sat side by side with their hands clasped and their foreheads pressed together, murmuring words he could not quite decipher. Robb knew he would not be able to put off meeting with Aegon forever, but he knew that tonight was not the night for treating. That could wait until the morning when everything was a little more settled.

Stupidly he looked for Roslin, before remembering that she had excused herself to check on Bethany. Robb knew well enough that their daughter would be fine with her nurses, just as well as he knew that Roslin was making an excuse to give him some time with his family. He appreciated her doing so, but he also wished that she had come back by now. She was as much a part of this family as any of them, and he so wanted to introduce her to Sansa. He had never had the chance to introduce her properly before, Arya had been introduced by his mother, and long before that he had not cared enough to introduce her with the pride she deserved. With the pride he felt for her.

“Where’s Aegon?” Sansa’s question pulled him from his thoughts, and he moved his attention to her. “They were being shown by the squires,” Robb replied, “they will likely be waiting in the parlour at the end of the hallway by now.” Sansa nodded in response, sharing a glance with their mother before their mother inclined her head slightly. At that, Sansa stood up, smoothing her skirts before visibly taking a breath. “Then, I think I ought to introduce you all,” she said. Though it was uttered with a smile Robb could hear the slight shake of nerves in her voice. “As you wish,” Robb smiled in response, gesturing to the door, before offering his arm. Sansa took it happily enough, and their mother came to take his other. Arya rolled her eyes, going to open the door and lead the way down the hallway.

There were two guards on either side of the door to the parlour, and Robb nodded his head curtly for them to open up the door. They did so, and Arya moved aside so he could lead the way in with Sansa and their mother on either arm. He had a half mind to send Arya to her rooms, but he imagined that such a suggestion would be met with disdain, and so he decided to let her stay. His decision further strengthening his resolve to not speak of matters of war and politics tonight. Besides, Roslin was still not back by his side, and he needed her as a witness to such talk. He understood war and tactics well enough, but he had to admit that his wife was far more politically minded. Robb had a feeling he might need her, especially when his eyes saw the hard expression of the man waiting with Aegon.

Sansa let go of his arm in the next moment, moving at once to her husband’s side. Robb could almost see them communicating without words, seeing how the fair man’s features only seemed to relax when Sansa’s touch found his arm. “Robb,” his sister spoke firmly, “this is Aegon, my husband. Aegon, this is my brother, Robb.” Her voice didn’t waver this time, and Robb stepped closer, hesitating a moment before he held his hand out to the fair man. “Perversely I think I have to thank you, for my sister,” Robb said, and Aegon grasped his hand firmly for a moment, meeting his eyes. “It was my pleasure to bring her back to you,” he said, the sincerity of his voice unnerving Robb slightly. “And my mother,” Sansa spoke up again before the atmosphere grew too heavy and awkward.

Robb let go of Aegon’s hand as his mother came forward. She seemed uncertain of what to do, but Aegon held his hand out for her, placing a light kiss to the back of it when she placed her own in his. “A pleasure, my lady, Sansa has often spoken of you. Of all of you,” Aegon said warmly, and Robb felt a nerve twitch slightly in his jaw. “I know you and Robb have much to discuss tomorrow,” his mother said calmly, her eyes fixed on Aegon’s, “but Sansa tells me you have been good to her, and as her mother, I want to thank you for that. You have my unending gratitude for showing her a kindness that has been unforgivably lacking from her life for so long.” There seemed to be some hidden meaning in his mother’s words that made Robb frown slightly. Before he could dwell too much on it though Arya bounded forwards. “I’m Arya,” she stuck her hand out without invitation. “I’ve heard much about you, too,” Aegon chuckled, and Robb noted that he shook Arya’s hand rather than bestow a kiss on it. Sansa really must trust him.

“Who is your companion?” Robb finally asked, his eyes flickering towards the hard-faced man. “This is Ser Jon Connington,” Aegon introduced, and Robb raised a brow but declined to comment. He suspected that bringing up the issue of who in the room was supposed to be dead would not end in a pleasant way. Best save it for another time and not sour Sansa’s return. “Ser,” Robb inclined his head in the older man’s direction, his cold features not softening. He merely bobbed his own head slightly in response, and Robb tried not to feel irked, his attention pulled to the door as it opened once more. Roslin strode in with effortless grace, and he felt a wave of sheer relief on seeing her. If anyone could ease the lingering tension in the air then it was her, she had managed Stannis after all.

“Forgive me,” his wife said sweetly, “I did not wish to intrude on your homecoming.” She was directing her words to Sansa. “I do hope you don’t think me rude,” Roslin continued, “I just thought you would like a little time with your family. It all seemed quite overwhelming, please don’t think I didn’t want to meet you. I do, very much.” Roslin smiled that perfect smile at the end, and Robb could see it in Sansa’s eyes that she already had a friend for life. “Sansa, this is my wife, Roslin,” Robb moved to her side to introduce her, pride dripping from every word as he lay his hand on the small of her back and guided her further into the room. “I’m so glad to meet you,” Sansa beamed, stepping forwards and having her hands taken by Roslin’s at once. “As I am to meet you,” Roslin returned her smile, “you and I have much catching up to do I think.”

Sansa’s eyes sparkled at that, and she nodded her head happily. Robb vaguely wondered how long it had been since she had had a female companion to confide in and share an easy friendship with. Too long, he wagered. Hopefully being around Roslin would at least start to make up for it. He already knew that his wife and his sister would adore one another, and from the smile on his mother’s face and the scowl on Arya’s, he imagined they could sense it too. “I would have brought Bethany to meet you, but she is settled now, and I cannot bear to wake her. Would you mind awfully waiting until tomorrow?” Roslin asked, her hands clearly squeezing Sansa’s slightly. “Bethany?” Sansa repeated questioningly, to which Roslin raised her brows.

“By the Gods, Robb Stark, have you not even told her that she is an aunt?” Roslin asked him incredulously, raising her brows at him. “There was an awful lot going on,” Robb tried to explain himself, but Roslin had already turned her attention back to Sansa. “She is ten days old,” her voice was laced with pride and happiness. “And the most beautiful thing in this world,” Robb added, “she takes after her mother, obviously.” A light blush rose up on Roslin’s cheeks and he grinned, moving to press a kiss to her temple before raising his head. His sight caught Aegon and Ser Jon, and he was placated and uneasy in equal measure. Aegon was smiling slightly, his eyes soft as he gazed in Sansa’s direction. Ser Jon was the opposite, his eyes still cold and unmoved. That made Robb uneasy. No one was ever unmoved by Roslin and her explicit warmth and goodness. No one but Bolton. He would be keeping a close eye on this Jon Connington, because he would not allow the same mistake to happen twice.

* * *

“Wine, I think,” Roslin smiled widely after conversing with Sansa in hushed tones for a long minute. Catelyn glanced again towards Aegon, seeing him still relaxed. A stark contrast to his companion. Ser Jon Connington had been long presumed dead. But then, so had her daughter’s husband, and having seen him Catelyn could not deny that he was the very image of a Targaryen. He could still be false, she knew that well enough, but would that really matter if he was what was right for the kingdoms? “Thank you,” Catelyn murmured as Roslin moved to hand her a cup. “What is it?” her good-daughter asked quietly as she poured a healthy measure into it. “That man, Jon Connington,” Catelyn murmured, “there is something…I don’t know what.”

Roslin nodded in understanding before moving on to pour some wine into Robb’s cup. “A toast, I think,” her son said as soon as his wife had a measure of wine for herself. “To Sansa,” Robb said simply, holding his cup aloft, “we could not be happier to have you back.” Sansa flushed at the toast, and it soothed Catelyn slightly to see that Aegon rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment, as though in reassurance. She herself had been reassured by her daughter’s insistence that her husband had been nothing but good to her. Sansa had confessed that she had found it hard at first, and thought him rude and obnoxious, but that she had seen the real side of him, and grown to trust him implicitly. She had averted her eyes when she had confessed to Catelyn that they had not consummated their marriage yet.

For a moment Catelyn had been pleased, seen a way out of it, another annulment for her daughter. But Sansa had swiftly continued explaining about her husband, and Catelyn knew by the end that her daughter did not want a way out of her marriage. She may not be entirely secure and comfortable yet, but it was obvious that she did not seek an end their union. Catelyn sighed before taking a long sip of wine. She could not deny that it would be easier if Sansa didn’t have feelings for her husband, but then again, after everything, could she really wish away the one thing in all this time that had brought her daughter happiness? Without Aegon she would still be in Pentos, and still trapped in marriage to the Imp. Sansa didn’t seem resentful of Tyrion Lannister, but Catelyn knew well enough that their marriage would never have worked.

She smiled slightly as she saw Sansa and Roslin retreat to one of the sofa’s to talk, Arya crossing to join them after a moment and being instantly included. Arya had never been one to crave female company, but she admired Roslin very much, and though she would likely not admit it aloud, she was thrilled to have Sansa back. Catelyn’s eyes lingered on them for a moment, before drifting across to see Jon Connington shifting towards Aegon and pulling the young man’s attention from Sansa. She watched as Aegon leaned in to better hear what his companion seemed to be furiously whispering to him. His body stayed relaxed, but Catelyn saw the slight frown come to adorn his features, and a prickle of fear ran through her at once.

Robb’s arm came around her shoulder and she almost flinched. Thankfully she remained still, her son pulling her a little closer into his side. “What?” he asked quietly, and she took a sip of wine in response. “Jon Connington,” she replied in a murmur, hearing him sigh. “I know,” he said, “I noticed too. So did Roslin, we might have to have a word with Sansa before council tomorrow. I don’t know what Aegon is planning to offer us, but I can wager that Ser Jon is not happy about it.” Catelyn closed her eyes in despair for a moment, taking a deep breath. “I can imagine he does not want Rhaegar’s son and heir to give up his claim to any of the kingdoms,” she muttered lowly, hearing Robb sigh in response. “Indeed,” he agreed, squeezing her shoulder firmly for a moment. “But at least we have Sansa back,” she brightened her tone, “that is the main thing, for now at least.”

* * *

“I’m not sure I like this idea,” Olyvar said, to which Dacey rolled her eyes. “We can’t take Lord Bran with us when we march on Winterfell, you know we can’t,” she said exasperatedly, and he rolled his own eyes. “I know that,” he said indignantly, “but that doesn’t mean that I have to go with him to Last Hearth, does it?” Dacey huffed at that, folding her arms. “We are not far away, and there is no need for a large guard. _You_ ought to go with them because you are kin now,” she said, and Olyvar ran his hand through his hair in an irritated fashion. “I may be kin, but he barely knows me. I don’t think I will be any comfort to him. He has the Reeds, and he will have a guard. I am better off staying with you,” he said.

“Don’t be selfish,” she replied at once, “if Jon gets leave from the Wall then he will be coming to get that letter. I don’t know how long it is going to take us to reclaim Winterfell, but I do know that you and Jon got on well at the Wall. Whatever is in that letter, it might not necessarily be good. Jon may well need a friend, so will you just do this?” Olyvar huffed irritably, resisting the urge to kick the end of the make-shift bed. “Olyvar, I don’t want to be parted from you either,” her tone was softer now, “but you are kin to the King’s family, I think he would greatly appreciate you doing this.”

“Fine,” he said after a long moment of silence, “I will do it on one condition.” He turned to face her, seeing a little frown creasing her brow. “What condition?” she asked him, and he moved closer, taking both her hands in both of his. “We get married as soon as we’re together again,” he said, and she nodded her head at once. “I will gladly agree to that condition,” she told him meaningfully, and he tugged on her hands until she was firmly in his embrace. His lips found the top of her head as her own arms snaked around his waist. “I love you,” he murmured to her, repeatedly pressing kisses to her hair. “I love you too,” she responded, “the time will fly, I am almost certain of it.”


	49. XLIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter of part one everyone! You may have noticed I've popped this into a series now, and I hope you're all interested in continuing into part two. 
> 
> I also just noticed that my kudos is passed 300, so thank you! It feels like a pretty great milestone. 
> 
> Thanks to those who left comments to. I would just like to promise that there is negotiation coming up, and even if a deal is agreed, there will still be plenty of tension floating around. Robb isn't likely to forget that Aegon "blackmailed" Sansa into marriage, even if his sister seems happy enough with the arrangement.
> 
> Anyway, I'm so glad that people seem to be enjoying this, and I hope you will enjoy part two when it comes!
> 
> :)

* * *

“My queen,” Ser Damon bowed to her when he came through the door, and Roslin managed a smile for him. “I am attending council with the king,” she told him, “I would like you to stay here and guard the princess.” He frowned at that, and she couldn’t blame him. There were already guards outside her daughter’s nursery, and guards stationed at either end of the hallway. Robb had ordered them there even before the Targaryen host had arrived. Roslin knew she was likely being overcautious, but she did not trust that man Jon Connington one bit, and she would not be able to settle in council unless someone she trusted implicitly was guarding Bethany. “She is likely to be much less trouble than I am,” she raised a brow in Ser Damon’s direction, and he inclined his head. “I will still keep one eye on her, and one on the door,” he assured her, and she managed another smile for him.

“I don’t know how long I will be,” she said apologetically, smoothing the front of her dress. “I will be here until you come back,” Ser Damon promised her, and she inclined her head gratefully. “Thank you,” she said warmly, whispering her fingers across the back of her daughter’s hand before bending into the cradle to press a kiss to her forehead. With that she straightened up, inclining her head once more to Ser Damon before she made her way to the door. She took a deep breath once out in the hallway, standing herself as tall as possible before she made her way back to her chambers. Robb was pacing when she opened the door, his crown already atop his head. He paused and sent her a strained smile when he caught sight of her, and she determined to return the gesture. “How was Bethany?” he asked her as she moved to the dresser to place her own crown atop her head.

“Oblivious,” she told him drily, hearing him snort slightly in response. “Lucky her,” he muttered, and she couldn’t help but agree with him. “I asked Ser Damon to stay in the nursery for the day,” she told him as she turned around, catching sight of the muscle twitching in his jaw. “You ought not to have to,” he said irritably, “we are supposed to be safe here.” Roslin crossed to him at once, her hands coming to clasp around his upper arms. “We are,” she said firmly, “likely I am being overcautious, I was told it was something that comes with being a mother.”

“I pray you’re right,” he said distractedly, and she rubbed her hands more firmly up and down his arms, feeling how tense he was. “What is it?” she asked him softly, and he sighed heavily in response. “I feel like all of this could be simple, if not for a few things,” he told her, and she smiled slightly. “Connington?” she guessed, and he nodded curtly. “And Stannis,” he muttered, “what you did with him was right, but we were allied with him for a time, and a meeting was agreed upon.”

“Grudgingly, on his part,” Roslin reminded him. “But it was still agreed,” Robb insisted, “and when he hears of this, I have no doubt that he will be insisting on us living up to our side of the bargain.” Roslin nodded her agreement at that, they did still owe Stannis a meeting, whether they liked it or not. She couldn’t help but feel that Robb was right, that the man would insist upon it happening as soon as he discovered just who Robb was entertaining at Riverrun. “Things are different now,” she reminded her husband, “we have another choice lay before us now, an easier choice, some would say. We could never allow Stannis to seat the Iron Throne, he would destroy everything the people hold dear. He would destroy the Gods themselves, Robb. You know we could never have backed him, not like that.”

“No, I know,” Robb agreed, albeit distractedly, and Roslin sighed heavily. “We ought to go, we shouldn’t keep them waiting too long,” she said, “all of this is going to be edgy enough without adding any unnecessary tension.” Robb agreed with her, stepping away and going to the door. She followed him, closing it shut behind them and taking his arm. Their guards fell into step behind them, and as they drew closer to the end of the hallway she noted that Lords Flint, Tully, and Cerwyn were waiting for them with stony expressions. “We keep control of the North and the Riverlands,” Robb told them in an undertone, and they nodded. “If he agrees to that, then we can talk about the Iron Throne, but not before,” he continued, and again they nodded, Roslin’s grip increasing slightly on his arm.

“Good,” Robb said, though he sounded anything but pleased. Again they went on their way, the three lords joining their party as they made their way to the council chambers of Riverrun. The doors were stood open, and Roslin could see that the Targaryen host were already in attendance. As one she and Robb stepped through the doors, and Roslin made sure to hold her head up high as those waiting turned in their direction at once. Sansa greeted her at once with a wide smile, and Roslin returned it, not missing the dark look that crossed Jon Connington’s face at the exchange. He could scowl all he wanted, Roslin decided, it was only Aegon that Robb was interested in treating with. Roslin just hoped that his companion and guardian did not have his claws sunk in too deep. Robb would not ally with a puppet, she knew that well enough, and she agreed with him on the matter.

“I don’t think we have been introduced,” Robb said pointedly, looking towards a portly man, whom Roslin could only describe as grey. Grey hair. Grey eyes. Dull complexion. “This is Harry Strickland,” unsurprisingly it was Aegon who answered, “the commander of the Golden Company.” Roslin raised her brows at that but made no comment. He did not fit the role physically, in her mind, but perhaps he was a good tactician and leader. Rapport with the men was one of the most important attributes of a general, she knew that well enough. “Well met,” Robb said slightly stiffly, and Harry inclined his head. “Your…Grace…” he said almost uncertainly, glancing towards Aegon, and looking relieved when he wasn’t chastised for his choice of title. Roslin was slightly relieved herself, daring to hope that Aegon would not challenge Robb’s right to the crown of the North and the Riverlands.

“There are some in your company I have not had the pleasure of meeting,” Aegon said smoothly in the next moment. “My Lords Tully, Flint, and Cerwyn,” Robb introduced, gesturing to them each in turn. Aegon inclined his head to them all, and they each inclined their own back. Though the action looked rather stiff and grudging to Roslin’s eye. She repressed a sigh. This was going to be a long day. “Perhaps we ought to sit?” she suggested, and thankfully there were nods of agreement. Robb moved to take his place at the head of the table, Aegon moving to sit at the opposite end. Roslin slid in on Robb’s right, and she watched as Aegon encouraged Sansa to take the place on his right. She also noted Jon Connington’s deepening frown at the action, and he took the space to Aegon’s left in a rather undignified manner.

It was a stark contrast to the way Edmure slipped easily into his place on Robb’s left, Lord Flint taking the place next to him, while Lord Cerwyn seated himself next to her. They were at an advantage already, Roslin realised, all of them firmly on the same side, and firmly aware of their places. Jon Connington obviously still considered himself Aegon’s closest confidante, but she wondered if it was possible that Sansa had edged him from the role. If she had, it would work well in their favour, she was certain of that. She glanced towards Robb, seeing him looking more relaxed as his clasped hands rested in front of him on the table. Roslin folded her own hands in her lap, and decided to make herself look as demure as possible. Robb had told her to speak up whenever she felt necessary, but for now she was happy to play the part of the obedient wife and keep one eye firmly on Jon Connington.

“Well,” Robb began, “you asked for leave to treat with us, what is it you want?” Everyone present knew damn well what Aegon wanted, but Roslin knew that Robb was more interested about what he wanted in exchange. And what it would mean for the crown set atop his head that he had never asked for, but fought so hard to keep. If Aegon thought to take it from him, Roslin knew he would be crushed in an instant, kin or not. She hoped he were not so foolish. “I want to take the Iron Throne, as is my birth right,” Aegon said calmly, his stance almost identical to Robb’s. The rest of them may as well not be in the room, given the intensity with which they were staring at one another. “Those who claim the Iron Throne tend to claim themselves Lords of all of Westeros,” Robb said just as calmly, “if you intend to do the same, then we are going to have a problem.”

Roslin took a deep breath at that, waiting for Aegon’s reply. To her surprise, when she glanced in his direction, he was smiling. “I don’t want you to surrender your crown,” he said in an assuring manner, “I am not fool enough to think that you wouldn’t destroy me if I even thought of asking you to bend the knee. As it is, I never had any intention of trying to force you to give it up. You fought for your title as King in the North, and as my wife quite rightly pointed out on our first meeting, Starks were kings long before dragons came.”

“And the Riverlands,” Edmure spoke up, “we named his Grace our king, our queen is of this country. We are joined in blood and marriage, my own wife is of the North. We do not wish to bend the knee either, as Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, I named Robb Stark my king, no other, and that is how myself, and my lords would have it remain.”

“Let me make myself very clear,” Aegon said slowly, “I relinquish any claim I have to the kingdoms of the North and the Riverlands. I will do so formally if you insist upon it, I will sign my name in blood if it’s what it takes to assure you that I do not seek to take your crown.” He was addressing Robb, his eyes fixed insistently upon him. Roslin looked towards her husband, seeing his gaze searching, and not quite trusting. “Ink will suffice,” Robb finally said, and Aegon nodded, clearly taking a deep breath. Roslin’s eyes flickered towards Jon Connington, and she did not miss the look of distaste that he was sending towards Robb and Edmure. “You didn’t come just to assure my husband you have no desire for his crown,” Roslin finally spoke up, “I assume you will not deny that you came here for his allegiance, and his aid in taking the Iron Throne.”

“I will not deny it,” Aegon agreed, and she took a deep breath. “You have yet to fight a battle,” she said, “my husband has fought many. He has lifted a siege, captured Casterly Rock and Lannisport, overrun the mines of the Westerlands and been wounded at the hands of his own bannerman. You ask a lot of him, to consider marching out once more, when the boy he set out to destroy already lies cold.”

“I only ask of him what he would have done himself,” Aegon responded, “am I not right, your Grace? Perhaps I am wrong, but I assumed that you would not march north and leave the Lannisters clinging desperately to the throne they have no right to. I assumed you would want it finished for good. That you would want to ensure that they never again had the potential power to harm you or yours. Was I wrong, your Grace? Have I wrongly assumed?”

“No,” Robb said quietly after several long moments of quiet, and Roslin closed her eyes in despair. She had been expecting his answer of course. Despite everything he still hungered to be rid of the Lannisters. Though Tywin and Joffrey were dead, he would not rest until he had ended the reign of the poisonous Cersei, and recaptured the Kingslayer. She could understand why, of course she could, but the thought of him fighting again after what had befallen him at Casterly Rock filled her with dread. The look in Connington’s eyes only caused the fear in her to rise higher. Would the man betray his own king? Would he go against what Aegon had ordered if he thought he could harm Robb? Remove him from the picture? Roslin bit her lip. She couldn’t risk a betrayal like that again, none of them could. Once had been more than enough. If Robb did ally with Aegon, then she was damn well going to make sure that he employed a Kingsguard.

“I only ask for what you had already planned,” Aegon said almost pleadingly, “only now, you have someone to seat the Iron Throne once the Capitol is in your grasp. My wife is your sister, we are bound as kin, and I would honour that. I swear it.” Robb looked uneasy when Roslin looked to him again, and she could almost see the inner turmoil raging behind his eyes. She herself was torn. There were positives to supporting Aegon’s claim. For one he wasn’t Stannis, nor a bastard Lannister. For another he seemed rational, calm, and without trace of the famed Targaryen madness. That was the trouble though, how would they ever prove his claim to be true? By his own admission he had no proof, and even his colouring and looks would not be enough to convince everyone. Likely his reign would be plagued by doubts if he ever took the throne.

There was the real worry that uprisings and rebellions could start against him. Would Robb be called on then to help? Would the fighting ever end? Could her husband really go on forever and never lose a battle? No one was that lucky. Not even Robb with all his tactical mindedness and skill with the sword. “I don’t trust you,” Robb said bluntly, pulling her away from unsavoury thoughts. “Yet,” he added as Aegon opened his mouth, no doubt to protest. “But my sister seems to,” he continued, “and that is something at least.”

“The people will be divided,” Roslin said warningly, “they will whisper about you, and some whispers will not be favourable. For all they know you are long dead, and that belief will not easily be erased. If you succeeded in taking the throne you would have to defend yourself on it forever. There will be those who always see you as false, and for every one of them who merely whispers behind their hands there will be another who would happily rise up against you. All it takes is one rich, charismatic lord to convince enough people to his cause, and then you have a rebellion on your hands. Then what? Would you expect the North and the Riverlands to aid you again? We may be kin, but you cannot expect us to fight all your battles when we have lands and people of our own to protect.”

“Such a thing is not a certainty,” Aegon said, naively in Roslin’s opinion, “and besides, with the seasons turning, once I have my throne secured it will become more difficult for any potential rebel to unseat me. If they lay a siege around the Capitol they would freeze to death before any of us starved. I know not all will support the accession of another Targaryen king, but many will, I am assured of that.”

“But that’s just it,” Robb spoke up again, “you have no proof of being a Targaryen. Forgive me, I cannot deny your look, but there will be many against you who will disregard it. If I am honest, without your marriage to my sister, I would have dismissed you outright. Backing you is a risk, a big risk, to my people, my honour and my reputation. I have a family to consider, and that does not only include Sansa. I have my lords to consider, my people to consider. Those in the North have dealt with more hardships that I care to dwell on in my absence. I have been betrayed by my friend and rebelled against by the Ironborn, and I have survived an attempt on my life from one of my own bannerman. I cannot afford to take another wrong turn, and at this moment, I cannot be sure that backing you would be the right decision, kin or not.”

“Robb, if he is a good king then the smallfolk would never rebel against him. Higher lords might try, but if their men will not rise with them then they stand no chance. Please, I believe that Aegon will be good for the kingdoms, that he can bring peace. That is surely what the people want after all this fighting, surely they want an end to it. A king they can trust on the Iron Throne again. One look and they will believe him true, and if you, a Stark with famed honour, trust in him then others will too. If you join with him others will follow, Robb. You are as respected as father was, even those at the Capitol whispered of your victories. They will not doubt you, not when you have allowed your own sister to enter into marriage with him,” Sansa implored Robb, and Roslin couldn’t help but think that she might have a point.

“I didn’t _allow_ you though, did I?” Robb said pointedly, and Roslin moved her hand under the table until she could rest it on his knee and squeeze warningly. They could not give anyone even a hint of a familial rift. “They wouldn’t have to know that,” Sansa said calmly, “no one knows that Aegon and I are married besides his men and yours. We could have married here for all our enemies know, and our enemies are all the same, Robb. You and Aegon want the same thing, you don’t want to seat the Iron Throne but _he_ does. We are kin, and alliance between us makes sense, Robb, please, I know you don’t want to fight anymore, but would you please consider this. Please?”

Roslin felt a stab of sympathy towards her good-sister. She could not imagine being in her shoes, torn over whose side of the negotiating table she really belonged on. It could not be easy, torn between a family she had missed for so long and a husband she had only just gained, but who she clearly cared for. Roslin wondered what she would do if Robb refused. Would she take the way out of her marriage and have a second annulment granted, or would she leave with Aegon? Somehow, Roslin imagined that she would stand by her husband, though likely she would do so with a heavy heart. She wondered if Robb was considering the same possibility, as he gazed towards his sister with a conflicted expression adorning his features.

“I think, perhaps, that there is enough to be thought about for one day,” Roslin said quietly, when it seemed clear that no one else was going to speak up into the heavy silence that had fallen over them all. “I agree,” Aegon said awkwardly, and Sansa sent her a grateful smile. “I will think on your proposal,” Robb said, rising up to his feet, “but I can make no more promise than that.” Roslin rose up too, sending an apologetic smile towards Sansa at their abrupt departure. Clearly Robb had had enough, the brisk Northerner that resided in him making himself known as he stamped towards the door. “I’m sure we will all speak again, soon,” Roslin said, trying to keep up some façade of politeness, given Robb’s manner of leaving. “I’m sure,” Aegon said, and she was sure she could detect a hint of disappointment in his tone. There was little she could do to quell it, she had a conflicted husband to catch up to, hopefully before he could say or do anything rash.

* * *

“What are you doing here?” Jeyne asked with a frown as she entered the nursery, seeing Damon sat near the princess’ cradle. “I could ask you the same thing,” he returned with a raised brow, and she sent a smile towards the princess’ nurses who were sat sewing in a corner of the room. “I have just come to check on the princess, as is routine in the first few months of her life,” Jeyne told him as she approached the cradle. “The queen asked me to stay and guard her while she attended council with the king,” Damon told her in an undertone and she leaned down to scoop the little princess out of her cradle. “Do you think she was being a mother, or that she is suspicious of the new visitors to the keep?” Jeyne asked him quietly as she weighed the baby in her arms. She definitely felt a little heavier than last week, which was what she had been expecting. “Both, perhaps,” Damon answered her question as she lowered the little princess back into her cradle, rearranging the blankets carefully around her.

She was a beautiful little thing, with all the dainty features and dark colouring of her mother. Her eyes were unmistakably Robb’s though, the big, blue orbs blinking up at her as her little arms waved, and soft grunts left her mouth. “Is she well?” Damon asked, and Jeyne nodded her head. “She has put on weight, definitely grown a little more, and she seems bright and alert,” she elaborated, and Damon stood up from his seat near the cradle and came towards her. He leant his hand on the small of her back as she gazed down at the little princess, his lips finding her cheek. “I do not blame the queen for being cautious,” Jeyne said, “if I were blessed with such a beautiful gift then I would do all in my power to keep her safe as well.”

“You will be blessed,” Damon murmured against her skin, and she took a deep breath. “Yes,” she agreed with him, and he pulled back slightly. She turned her head to meet his eyes, seeing the suspicion dancing in them. “Yes?” he repeated questioningly, and she bit down on her lip. “I don’t know for certain,” she told him in little more than a whisper, “but my bleeding is late, and I have never been late before.” Damon’s eyes lit up at that, and she sighed heavily. “It does not mean that I am with child,” she cautioned him, but it did little to make the grin on his face fade. “But you believe you are, don’t you?” he pressed her, and she tried very hard not to smile. “I _hope_ I am,” she corrected him, “but please don’t you assumed we have been blessed. Gods, I should have known not to tell you unless I was certain.”

Damon looked as though he were about to say something else, but the sound of the door being opened had them both stepping away from the cradle, and putting a few more inches between one another. It was Robb who had entered, and Jeyne could sense almost immediately that he was not in the best of moods. “What’s going on?” he asked at once, a hint of panic in his tone as he strode to the cradle. “She’s not sick, is she?” he asked, gazing at Jeyne with an almost wild look in his eyes. “No,” she shook her head at once, “it is her weekly check, that’s all. I would usually wait for the queen, but she was in council and I didn’t want to disturb her. The princess is just fine, I promise.”

She could see it in his eyes that he believed her, all the tension in his facial muscles relaxing at once. There had been an almost anger about Robb when he had strode in, but it seemed to melt as he turned his attention to his baby daughter. He took her into his arms with a tenderness that was something wondrous to behold from such a powerfully built man. Jeyne could imagine Damon as a father all too well then, imagining him holding their baby with the same care and adoration on his face. She turned to face him, smiling widely at him, and silently praying that her suspicions were true, that she was indeed pregnant with his child. Damon seemed able to read her mind, leaning in a pressing a kiss to her forehead, his hand skimming along her stomach lightly before coming to rest on her hip. Jeyne closed her eyes at the touch, realising for the first time that he wanted this as much as she did. Gods, she hoped and prayed with every fibre of her being that her hope would come to fruition.


	50. L

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> This is the last chapter of part one! I'll be posting up part two before the end of the month.
> 
> I really hope you've all enjoyed this, and that you'll join me for the next part of the journey.
> 
> Thank you so much to all of you who left comments and feedback, and to everyone who has left kudos.
> 
> This is the first story I've posted up on here so thanks for making it a great experience.
> 
> Catch you all later!
> 
> :)

* * *

Sansa was nervous as she made her way towards the chambers where Roslin was waiting for her. Her good-sister had asked her to luncheon, and Aegon had urged her to accept the offer and get to know the new addition to her family. Roslin had been nothing but nice to her so far, but since the end of the council meeting earlier in the week they had barely had any interaction. If Sansa was honest, it was probably more her fault than the fault of Robb’s wife. She felt completely torn, wanting to support Aegon in his quest for an allegiance, but not wanting to anger Robb by siding against him. It was not a position she had enjoyed being in, so she had kept to her rooms for the most part, only really seeing her mother, since she had promised not to speak of the ongoing negotiations. Arya had also spent time with her, and again, they had neglected to speak of the potential rift developing between Robb and Aegon.

Somehow, Sansa had imagined that Roslin _would_ want to talk about it, and she was wary of it because she had absolutely no idea how to explain her inner feelings. Roslin seemed like a lovely woman, but she also seemed to be incredibly clever. She had spoken up in the council meeting far more than Sansa had imagined she would. Her mother had explained later that Roslin had ruled almost single-handedly whilst Robb had been recovering, and was very politically minded. Sansa had relayed the information to Aegon later, and then had been unable to sleep that night over worrying whether she had done the right thing. Roslin made being queen look easy. Cersei made being queen look easy, Sansa could grudgingly give her that. She wasn’t so sure that she possessed that same effortless grace though. Though she had grown in confidence, she still felt as though she bit her tongue more often than not.

She closed her eyes and tried to push the negativity away, pausing outside Roslin’s chambers and taking a deep breath before knocking. Roslin called for her to come in after a moment, and Sansa did as she was bid, the smile her good-sister sent her immediately putting her at ease. Perhaps that’s why she was so good in council, because she had an inexplicable warmth that you couldn’t help but be drawn into. “Come and sit down,” Roslin urged her, “you are just in time, the maids have just come and left us some hot tea and lemon cakes. Your mother said they were your favourite.”

“They are, thank you,” Sansa said, smoothing her skirts before she took the seat opposite Roslin. “I can’t help but feel as though you have been avoiding me,” Roslin said, her tone light and un-accusing as she poured out two cups of tea. “Not you, exactly,” Sansa said awkwardly, and Roslin sent her and understanding smile. “It isn’t the easiest of situations,” she conceded, “I imagine Aegon has been as difficult to live with as Robb has been these past few days.”

“He has been rather distracted,” Sansa admitted, “sometimes I wonder if he even notices that I am in the same room as him.” Roslin smiled at that, passing her a cup of the tea. “Robb has been the same,” she told her, “but I have sent him out to the tiltyard for a few hours. He can’t think being cooped up here, I think he just needs to savage a few training mannequins and clear his head. It really is a struggle for him to know what to do for the best, Sansa. Robb has wanted to go home for so long, and he wants to do what’s best for the people. You must realise that prolonging this war will cost even more lives, mean even fewer men get home to their families.”

“I do realise that,” Sansa replied, “but Aegon isn’t asking Robb to do anything he wouldn’t eventually have to do anyway. He would never be able to settle knowing the Lannisters are still in power, and Stannis is still declaring himself king.” Roslin nodded at that, taking a sip of tea before she spoke again. “I know, but you are asking Robb to back Aegon for the throne, a man thought to be dead, a man with no proof of his real identity,” Roslin said calmly. “I know you believe his tale, and false or not perhaps he would be a good king, but that doesn’t mean that he is the right king,” she continued, “there is more than just who sits the throne to consider. The Greatjon and the Mormonts have not yet retaken Winterfell, and we cannot just forget that we made a temporary alliance with Stannis. He will not take it well if we suddenly declare our allegiance to a Targaryen long thought dead.”

“Who is the right king, then?” Sansa asked in frustrated manner. She knew damn well that there was no one else that her brother would even consider backing for the Iron Throne. Tommen was a Lannister puppet, and Stannis wanted to destroy the Gods. There was no question of Robb allying with either of them, so why would he not trust Aegon? “I don’t know,” Roslin said quietly, “but I know Robb won’t back Aegon just because he is the only choice left to him. If he backs Aegon, it will be because he believes that he is the right man to sit the Iron Throne.”

* * *

Robb hammered one last blow against the training mannequin before he sheathed his sword and wiped the back of his hand across his sweaty brow. Roslin had been right, going out into the tiltyard and working out his frustration had been just what he needed to forget what was going on in his head for a little while. He had been going over the letters that Lord Karstark and the Greatjon had sent him only yesterday. They were cautious, urging him to think carefully and trust his own judgement, and that they would back him whatever he decided. He was touched by their loyalty, but still no closer to making a decision. Backing Aegon could be his biggest triumph or his greatest mistake, he just wished there was a way to find out which it was.

He huffed irritably, before deciding to head back into the keep and go up to the nursery. It seemed the only way he could achieve a calm state these days was by being with his daughter. Roslin eased him somewhat, but she also had the ability to talk, which he didn’t always appreciate when he was trying to think. Bethany’s incoherent babbling was much more agreeable to him at the moment. He knew he was being slightly unfair, that Roslin was only trying to get him to talk because she herself was worried. The trouble was he had no idea what to say to her, what to promise her. He had no idea what he was going to do, his head conflicting horribly with his heart. If only there were some way for him to come to the same decision.

“Your Grace!” a squire hailed him as he made his way across the courtyard, and Robb moved to meet him, seeing he had a letter clutched in his hand. “Thank you,” Robb said briskly when it was handed over, turning it so see the sigil of house Mormont. Likely an update from Dacey or Maege. He hoped that it was all routine news, and not anything bad involving Stannis or the Wall. The only way to find out was to open it of course, and so he cracked the seal and unfurled the parchment. His legs almost gave out beneath him when he read the message. By the Gods. They had found him. They had found Bran. Before he could stop himself he was laughing, his hand clapping to his forehead in sheer disbelief. After all of this time he had almost given up hope of his brother ever being found. Now he was safe with his own men, and Olyvar and a guard of men would be taking him to Last Hearth to remain with Rickon until Winterfell was safe to return to.

Gods. He had to tell his mother. He set off at a brisk pace at once, only half looking where he was going as he scanned the rest of the letter. When he reached the entrance hall he stopped dead, his heart beating wildly in his chest as he read the words through twice more to be sure he was understanding them. _The Reeds claim Bran has greensight. I believe that the boy, Jojen, is gifted with it – his eyes are unnaturally green. Bran has said little but he is insistent on one thing, that you must ‘trust the dragon, but beware his shadow’. I don’t know what it means, your Grace, if it pertains to this Aegon Targaryen or not, but Bran and Jojen both insist that it has been seen. That it is true._

Greensight? Gods. Robb wanted to name it false at once, but why would the Reeds lie to him? Their father had been one of his own father’s greatest friends and supporters. Robb frowned deeply, thinking on the words that his brother had been uttering. If it did pertain to Aegon then it meant that Robb could trust him, something which he was grudgingly inclined to do. Then the shadow…it could only be Connington. The only time he was not one step behind Aegon was at night. Then again, it seemed that Robb was right to be cautious of the old knight. His head was aching with the effort of thinking what felt like a thousand different thoughts at once.

Most prominent in his mind was telling his mother. She needed this news more than the rest of them put together. Bethany being born and Sansa returning had eased her pain for a while, but more recently he had seen it resurfacing in her eyes. She had almost everyone here with her, but she was missing her two youngest sons. Knowing Rickon was safe made it easier for her to bear the separation, not knowing where Bran was or if he was even living had slowly torn her apart. She never said anything, but Robb could see it all too clearly in her eyes. Every time he met them he felt his own guilt rise higher in him. _I should never have sent Theon to Pyke._ It was too late now. Too late for regret. He had made his first mistake trusting him, and his second in trusting Bolton. He would not make a third. He could not afford to make a third, not now when he was so close to fixing everything he could possibly fix.

His mother’s door came upon him quickly, and he knocked sharply, entering immediately when she called for him to come in. “This is a surprise,” she said with a smile, and he held out the letter to her. “They found him, mother,” he said simply, “or rather, he found them.” Her eyes were wide with disbelief as she took the letter from him with shaking hands. One went to her mouth as she read through the letter. “Bran,” she choked out, “oh, Bran, thank the Gods, thank the Gods for him.” Robb stepped forwards and gathered her into an embrace at once as she let the tears fall. She clung to him, her body shaking with what he knew to be relieved sobs. “You’ll be with them again soon, mother, I promise you,” he vowed.

“Robb, what did it mean about greensight?” she choked out, pulling away from him and meeting his eyes. He could see the confusion mingled with fear, and he had no idea what to say to her. “I don’t know,” he said honestly, “I can only trust Dacey, and trust my brother.” His mother nodded her head at that, her eyes going back to the parchment. “They say the crannogmen are more prone to it,” she said shakily, “those who keep to the old ways…and the eyes, what she says about the eyes. I have heard it told before. Gods…Robb, will you heed what he says, about the dragon?”

“That I can trust Aegon?” Robb questioned her, and she nodded her head, to which he sighed. “Even if I can trust him, I cannot trust his _shadow._ You can guess who that is, can’t you?” His mother nodded at that, and he sighed again. “I could never persuade Aegon to be rid of Connington, the man has raised him, been as a father to him. He is his most trusted advisor, if I were in his position and someone asked it of me…” Robb tailed off, the thought of coping without the Umbers or the Karstarks was not an inviting prospect. “I could not,” he shook his head, “so how can I expect him to?”

“Robb, if you do not feel safe around this man how can you march with him?” his mother demanded of him, and he had no answer to that. “I don’t know,” he said honestly, “I can only hope that his respect for Aegon outweighs his ambition to hold power over all the kingdoms.” His mother did not look placated with that answer, and Robb himself was unhappy with it. “Why not make it a condition of your allegiance?” she asked hopefully. “Aegon would choose the thousands you can give him over one man, surely?”

“No,” Robb said, “no I don’t think he would, and nor would I ask him to. Not without proof of Connington’s ill intent.” His mother looked distraught, and he knew without asking that she was thinking of Bolton. “Mother, I will be watchful,” he promised her, “and Roslin is insisting I form a Kingsguard. Whatever happens Jon Connington will not be my end, I assure you of that. Now please, stop this worrying and have a drink with me. We ought to toast to Bran’s safe return.”

* * *

“Forgive my ignorance, but how do you know when you are having a green dream as opposed to an ordinary one? Or, are all your dreams green?” Olyvar asked Jojen as they trotted side by side along the road to Last Hearth. “They feel different, I can’t explain it properly,” the boy told him, “it’s as though the edges are blurred differently to ordinary dreams. They can sometimes be difficult to decipher, sometimes the meaning is not clear until the events foreseen have passed.” Olyvar hummed at that, considering his words carefully. “So this, dragon?” he questioned. “You are sure that the dragon represents a person, rather than an actual dragon?”

“That was Bran’s dream, not mine,” Jojen told him, “though I have had others where a dragon appears. Many dragons, and wolves, mingled together. I cannot tell exactly what it means. At first I thought it was war, but the feeling wasn’t right. After Bran told me the dragon could be trusted, I imagined it must mean an allegiance, but that doesn’t quite fit either. In some ways it does, but there is the added image of a tower, a faraway place I do not know of. The tower leaks blood, and secrets surround it. I try to get in but ten spectres keep me at bay.”

“Wait, you try to get in?” Olyvar interrupted. “So you have some level of control, you can control how much you are shown? How far you delve into the future?” Jojen seemed to find his eagerness amusing, letting out a burst of laughter before he answered his question. “I cannot delve into the future at will, the dreams come upon me, sometimes I have some level of consciousness, and I can try and see images more clearly that I think have a greater meaning,” he explained, “the tower, for example, I sense has more meaning than is clear to me, so I try and get closer to it. Inside it.”

“But spectres block your way?” Olyvar checked with him, raising a brow. “Ten,” Jojen confirmed, “sometimes I feel as though I can see their faces, but then they are snatched away before I can put a name to any of them. They are guarding a secret, I know it, and I cannot help but feel as though it is connected to the letter that my father gave us. I just can’t find the missing piece that links it all together. The tower, the dragons, the wolves,” Jojen shook his head in frustration, “there is something else I know it. Something missing. If I could only find that piece, I feel the whole thing will become clear to me.”

“The letter is for Jon,” Olyvar said hopefully, wondering if that would stir something in the boy’s mind. “I know,” he said heavily, “but try as I might, I cannot make him fit in the puzzle.” Olyvar frowned, silence falling upon them for a long moment, as he sensed both of them were thinking hard. “Perhaps he will fit when you know the content of the letter,” Olyvar said when he could think of nothing more helpful to say. “Bran thinks it reveals the name of his mother,” Jojen told him quietly, glancing around to check that Bran was out of earshot. Olyvar did the same, seeing the boy further back along the line on Hodor’s back, talking quietly to Meera who was riding at his side. “Perhaps it does,” Olyvar said quietly, “Jon is a Stark, a wolf, perhaps…I don’t know, perhaps his mother was a dragon?”

“I had thought of it,” Jojen confessed, “and dismissed it. His mother could not have been a Targaryen, at least not one who was trueborn or known of. I don’t think that can be it, though it would link everything, save the tower. Though…perhaps that was where his mother was from…or where she…” Jojen tailed off, and Olyvar understood well enough. “Died,” he finished the sentence, and Jojen nodded his head. “But where does the dragon fit in if his mother did not have Targaryen blood?” Olyvar asked, frowning so hard in concentration that it was a wonder that he did not give himself a headache. “Unless…” he said slowly, a creeping sensation of dread working its way into his veins. “Unless?” Jojen prompted almost urgently.

“It was the other way round,” Olyvar whispered, hoping that Jojen would just scoff at his ridiculous suggestion. Fall about laughing and tell him to leave speculation on his dreams to him. He didn’t laugh. His expression was serious, and Olyvar swallowed hard. All his old history lessons were coming back to him now, the wheezy voice of his old Maester resounding in his head. Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna. He raped and murdered her. Lord Stark found her and returned her body to Winterfell. But did he not also return with a bastard boy, whose mother’s name he never uttered? Robb had told him that himself, that his father would not hear talk of Jon’s mother. That none of them ever dared ask him more than once. Could it be he never uttered her name because his sister had given birth to Jon after being brutalized by Rhaegar Targaryen? Olyvar could understand why such a thing would be too painful to bear.

“The Tower of Joy,” Olyvar muttered before he could stop himself, and he heard Jojen take in a deep breath. “Lord Stark took six companions, and they were met by three Kingsguard,” Jojen said, as though reciting word for word what his own Maester had taught him. “Only he and my father survived, they were too late to save the Lady Lyanna,” he continued, “my father never spoke of it, he said it was too painful.”

“Or perhaps he was sworn to secrecy,” Olyvar speculated, and Jojen nodded his agreement. “Until Lord Stark’s death,” he elaborated, and Olyvar nodded his own head. “Ten spectres,” Olyvar said slowly, “guarding a secret, Lyanna’s secret, all the men who knew it are now dead. But the truth is in that letter.” It was Jojen’s turn to nod again, and Olyvar looked back at Bran once more in despair. “Jojen,” he said quietly, “if this is true, if we are right. How in the name of the Gods are we supposed to deliver this news to Jon? Do you not think it cruel? Do you not think it would be more of a kindness that he never discovered it?”

* * *

Roslin tightened her grip on Robb’s arm as they made their way down the hallway. “Are you certain about this?” she asked him in an undertone, and he stopped their progress, pulling her into a near-by alcove. “Yes,” he said, stepping closer to her and placing his hands on her cheeks so she met his eyes. She did so gladly, seeing them set in conviction. That was what she needed to see, that he truly thought that this was the right thing for them. “Then you know I support you, if you’re sure,” she told him quietly, and he nodded, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers for a long moment. “Come on,” he murmured when he pulled back, “before I forget myself.” Roslin couldn’t help but smile at that, a little tingle of desire running through her which she knew she would have to quell for now. It had been a long time since she and Robb had been able to be together properly, but her want for him had not faded. It seemed his own for her had not either, and that brought her a great comfort after the changes that Bethany had brought to her body.

She determined not to dwell on her illicit thoughts as she and Robb continued on down the hallway. Right now he required her to conduct her queenly duty, not her wifely one. She focused on their destination, again tightening her grip on Robb’s arm. He seemed to understand her apprehension, reaching his free hand over to lay over hers. His touch soothed her, calmed her nerves and took her mind away from what he was about to do. She tried not to think about the fact that if all went as he said it would, she would no longer have his soothing touch. It would be away from her for far too long, and not just from her, but from Bethany too. That was harder. Roslin knew Robb’s face, and she knew beyond doubt that he loved them. Their daughter could not know that, she was too young, she needed contact with those closest to her every day. She shook he head slightly, she could not say such a thing to Robb, it would break him.

They were coming to a halt again now, Robb’s fist already rising up to knock on the door. Roslin’s stomach clenched, part of her hoping that the occupants would not be there. There was no such luck. They were called to come in and Robb pushed open the door at once, pulling her through behind him. Roslin stood a step behind him and lay one hand on the small of his back as Aegon rose up from a chair and stood himself opposite him. She caught the apprehensive look in Sansa’s eyes as she too rose up, moving to her husband’s side, but not touching him. “I’ve made my decision,” Robb finally spoke through the crackling tension, “I will march with you and support your claim to the throne, but -,” he continued as Aegon smiled widely, “I have conditions.”

“Name them,” the fair man said at once, the relief in his tone obvious. “As I said before, I want an official treaty drawn up so we are all clear on who is to be king of which kingdom,” Robb began, and Aegon nodded. “We do not march until Winterfell has been retaken and I can send my wife and family home,” he continued, and Roslin swallowed hard as Aegon nodded again. “I would prefer Sansa went with them as well, my sister should not be anywhere near what we are going to have to do,” Robb said softly, his eyes flickering to Sansa. Aegon seemed to look between them for a moment, clearly torn. Roslin guessed that he wanted Sansa out of harm’s way, but that he also did not want to be separated from her. “That is a decision for my wife to make,” Aegon finally said, and Roslin felt Robb tense under her touch. “It might be best that no one knows she is your wife for the time being,” Robb said, and Roslin could tell it was uttered through gritted teeth.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Aegon said, the disappointment evident in his voice. “Finally, I do not seek a war with Stannis,” Robb said, and Aegon frowned at once. “We had a truce at the Wall, a stalemate so to speak,” he explained, “Stannis was promised another meeting with myself and the queen. Circumstances have changed, but I will honour what my queen promised him if he so wishes, and I will not have my men raise arms against him unless he strikes us first.” Aegon looked the most uncomfortable with this request, but after a long moment he nodded his head once more. “Very well, I agree to all your conditions,” he said, stepping a little closer to Robb. “Good,” Robb said, closing the gap and holding his hand out. Aegon grasped it, and the two of them met eyes for a long moment. “I’ll help you win your throne,” Robb said, “but once you seat it, it will be your own duty to keep it.”


End file.
